


(Things Are) Better When I Bleed.

by Katefkndoes



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katefkndoes/pseuds/Katefkndoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve finds that while many things changed after the serum some things stayed exactly the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for self-harm.
> 
> Written for a prompt at the capkink meme and previously posted to Livejournal under a different pseudonym.
> 
> This got kind of out of hand and isn't what I would normally write, so I'm not sure if I'm completely happy with it.

Steve Rogers had always been a little insecure about how he looked. In fact, a little insecure was a little bit of understatement about how he felt. When he looked in the mirror all he could see was a failure, his features were delicate and his body was comparable to that of a young boy. A fact which was only heightened since the country was at war in Europe and all of the virile young men had signed up and had shipped out to fight for the free world. Every single time he saw a poster of Uncle Sam, (and there were a lot of them around), he felt the twist in his gut. I want [everyone but] you.

Even before the war had started he had felt weak and just a little pathetic, but at least he had his art and at least society was leaning away from the traditional image of masculinity. However, he had still found on his first day of High School that kids could be cruel to those who were weaker than them, and though he had convinced himself that he would have a growth spurt it never happened and he was left a perpetual pre-teen. And tragically, life was deceptively like high school and adults could be cruel to those who were smaller than them.

That being said, there were two things that he could pride himself on. Firstly, his strong morals and secondly, just how well he could take a punch. The later was more impressive, since although he had never mastered how to throw a particularly good punch (and it wasn’t for a lack of practice), he had learned over the years exactly how to bounce back from a severe hit and it was miracle that a body as small as his could take so much pain. In fact, he couldn’t help feeling a swell of satisfaction when he drew himself up from another devastating punch.

This feeling had led to possibly the most self-destructive game that one could play. The truth of the matter was that he had begun to relish the satisfaction that came with showing a bully just how tough he could be, how much his body could endure. And given the nation’s state of mind during his formative years, it wasn’t too hard to cause enough of a scene to get set about on. The depression had hit everyone hard, and even though they were pulling through it slowly by the time he was old enough to have a full grasp on his needs, it was still not hard to infuriate a man into slapping a kid around. The older he grew the easier he found it; he could see the triggers in people almost a mile off – especially by the time the war started. He could always find the right buttons to press to get the satisfaction he required.

Adding to his bitterness was the fact that every other boy he knew had grown almost a foot during their teenage years, but he had failed to climb higher than five foot four - a mere two inches taller than his mother – and he had even failed to top a hundred pounds. The fact that even the fashion industry didn’t cater for him made it even more obvious how different he was. Any clothes he bought seemed to hang off his thin shoulders and only make him look even more like a kid in his father’s clothes. The resentment grew the longer he stared at himself in the mirror. Just once it would have been nice to buy a pair of slacks he didn’t have to adjust or a shirt he didn’t have to take in.

It wasn’t simply the fact that he appeared so frail that bothered him; it was the constant sickness and inability of society to let him function like the grown adult that he was. Everywhere he went he felt as though he was being mocked for being so puny. It was as though the whole world was out to get him, everything he wanted always seemed to be on the top shelf and every girl was far too tall for him. In the years after the prohibition, he was the only one of his friends who had ever been refused alcohol and even Bucky had laughed at him about that.

Then the war came and things became a lot worse, his physical weakness became more and more obvious and society seemed to rub it in his face even more – like he didn’t know that he was physically inept. He wanted nothing more than to do his civic duty and to serve his country like everyone other decent young man, but it seemed that society didn’t even deem him fit enough for battle fodder. Four failed attempts followed one another and four beatings to within an inch of his life followed that.

It was almost laughably easy to get his fix of pain. Every service-avoiding coward was willing to beat on a little guy. Perhaps it was in some vain attempt to validate their existence and make them feel more like real men and not the cretins they had obviously grown into. Whatever their inspiration they he was glad to have his own personal needs taken care of. Anyone of the six men who had laid into him would have had no problem in passing the medical exams to join the army, and maybe that was why he had chosen them in the first place.

He could not even pretend to himself that he was being anything other than masochistic, but he had become almost addicted to the reassuring pain of being punched in the face. The only downside was the feeling afterwards, when Bucky tried to tend to his wounds and he was left feeling even more useless than he had done prior to the incident. A general sense of malaise would consume his mood and he would be left alone in the knowledge that he had deliberately sought out that which hurt him.

Looking back, he couldn’t even remember the first time he had gone further than that. All he remembered was that he couldn’t have been all that old – his early teens at the most. His mother had still been alive, although it was after she had started working in the tuberculosis ward so it had to be near the time of her passing. When he thought about it, it might have been when he had cut himself shaving. Not, of course, that he had really needed to shave - the odd blond hair could have been moved independently - but the straight razor cutting across his skin had made him feel like a real man when precious little else did. So, the novelty had not yet worn off shaving but when the blade slice against his skin the exquisite flash of pain was enough to make him stop in his tracks and observe the ruby liquid spilling from the wound and interlacing with the remaining white shaving foam.

Of course, it wasn’t the matter of an uncomplicated moment of clarity that led to his need. A simple cut while shaving had not been a trigger for him to carve countless lines into his thigh, but as he grew older and became more and more disillusioned with himself and the world around him he had remembered that brief moment of pain. And it wasn’t as though he would rush home from school to do it; he didn’t feel compelled to cut all of the time. But when he was down? When he was down it offered him a sense of relief he could not glean from any other source.

When he had tried to enlist for the fifth time, it was in utter desperation. Bucky, his only real friend, was shipping out the following morning – the 107th, of course – and he needed to be a part of it. Bucky was the one person in his life who could see past his myriad weaknesses, even though he sought to protect his friend with everything he was worth. So, the fifth application was attempted with the skewed rationale that he was bound to fail, and Bucky shipping out to his own potential sacrifice only allowed him another reason to punish himself.

Then he got accepted and everything changed.

**

Bucky was still not quite sure what he had expected when he joined the army, but for some reason he had not let him consider the fact that Steve wouldn’t be around him. It wasn’t like he was blind, he could see that Steve wasn’t exactly army material, but they had not been apart for longer than a week since Bucky had been sneaking a cigarette in a back alley as a child and had first pulled a large teenager off the most effeminate looking kid he had ever seen – all blond hair and blue eyes. Steve had looked up at him with big eyes, one of which was already beginning to bruise, and spat out a mouthful of blood.

“I had them on the ropes,” he had muttered, a look of pure defiance plastered on his delicate features, and Bucky had known they would be the best of friends from that moment onwards. He had laughed and proffered a hand for the smaller man to take.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he had introduced himself, “but only my mom has ever called me that. You can call me Bucky.” Steve had shaken his hand; Bucky suspected that he was using all his strength to create the illusion of a masculine strength he did not possess, but even then he had known not to question it.

“Steve,” he had said before adding a little too earnestly, “Sure is mighty nice to meet you, Bucky.” And Bucky had done the decent thing and offered the kid one of his stolen cigarettes – a habit he had picked up solely because it annoyed his mother intensely. “No, thanks,” the kid had shifted awkwardly, “Asthma.” He had smiled uneasily and Bucky had replaced the packet back in his pocket and never bothered with the habit again.

Since that moment they had been inseparable, despite the fact that they were about as different as two people could be, and the differences only seemed to increase as they grew up together. Bucky had grown taller than his dad and had moved from school straight into manual labour as soon as he had the opportunity. Steve, on the other hand, had remained small and sickly and focused on training his mind over his body. Bucky suspects that is why they always managed to get on so well, Steve was no threat to his attention from the ladies and was smart enough to make sure that Bucky was never stuck in a tight scrape and Bucky acted as Steve’s bodyguard and offered him the life lessons his father had not lived to give him.

Either way, Bucky could not imagine spending any great amount of time without Steve at his side. Sure, it would be easier to fight without the smaller man’s safety playing on his mind but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want Steve there. They had applied together, and perhaps it was arrogance on his part, but he had fully expected both of them to sail through and enlist together and ship off for the big adventure that was war. But that hadn’t happened, and instead he had been forced to watch as Steve was refused a further three times.

He could see their logic, he really could, but he doubted very much whether anyone they had sent over to Europe had half of the fighting heart that Steve had. He knew that he didn’t. But as much as he wanted his friend to achieve everything that he wanted, he wanted Steve to be safe more than he wanted a foolish dream to be fulfilled.

It was selfish, he knew that, but he hoped that Steve had the sense to stay at home where he was safe and not to do something stupid. However, given Steve’s determined streak he was sure that if anyone could find a way around the system it was going to be him.

On his final day in New York, Steve had tried a fifth time, and Bucky slept uneasily despite a night of heavy dancing.

It was a double edged sword when Steve came to see him before he left with news of his successful entry into the United States Army, on one hand he had to be happy for a man who had not given up on his dream and finally succeeded, but on the other hand he worried for his friend’s safety. Though he had yet to see combat, he had lived in the barracks long enough to have heard the stories of the battlefield and he hated to think of Steve in such a dangerous position.

When Bucky left for England it was the first time he felt any fear concerning the war. The funny thing was he wasn’t worried for himself; he was worried about his friend.


	2. Chapter 2

When Peggy had first seen Steve standing in line with the rest of the new recruits, she had almost wondered whether securing her position within the SSR had all just been an elaborate practical joke. Surely there was no way such a frail man had managed to pass all of the physical tests involved to enlist? However, when the Colonel had turned up, his face told her that he was none-too-happy to see such a slight man among his ranks either. Regardless of Steve’s appearance, she had quickly come to appreciate the fact that he saw her as a superior, someone who should be respected and not a cheap floozy put on base to boost morale as most of his fellow recruits seemed to view her.

She watched him closely during the week of vigorous physical tests, watched as his body had complained and tortured him with every new circuit they created. She had watched the way the other men spoke down to him as though he was a child when he was obviously the same age as them, all while maintaining a certain dignity and eagerness to please. It was refreshing to see someone want something so much. And, she had to admit, when he had gotten past the drill instructors seemingly impossible challenge and retrieved the camp flag and joined her in the car back to base she had been unable to control her smirk.

There was something incredibly likeable about the young Private Rogers, even if no one else seemed willing to see it.

When Phillips had thrown the grenade into the midst of her training recruits, she had watched them all scatter faster than she had ever seen any of them move. Although, she supposed, she had the foresight to appreciate that the Colonel would not want to blow up his own army base and so the grenade was most likely a dummy. Steve, however, certainly did not have that knowledge and yet he had still thrown his body over the grenade in a valiant (if foolhardy) act of bravery.

There was definitely something pretty likeable about Steven.

Erskine had obviously agreed with her, since he had refused to conduct the experiment on anyone other than him, and while Colonel Phillips had been firmly in the camp opposing Rogers, when the young man had dived on top of the grenade he had seen a strength that he had not before and had finally conceded the point and agreed to recommend Steve. Peggy would never admit that the smile she walked around wearing for the next twenty four hours was probably down to the fact Steven had been chosen.

She had volunteered for the task of escorting Steve to the laboratory, but her intention had not been to engage him in idle conversation (and certainly not idle conversation about dancing.) However, when he had started talking, stuttering almost, about women (dames, honestly Steven, dames), it had just seemed natural that they fell onto that particular topic of conversation. She had to admit that she vaguely enjoyed watching him squirm in discomfort, and she certainly found amusement in his inability to talk to women. The right partner, she had mused, as Steve was locked into the container, too late to say no: do not pass go, do not collect $200.

When he had screamed, her heart had leapt into her throat: the realisation that nothing was certain about the experiment had been a painful one and she regretted her former joy at Erskine’s choice of lab-rat. Steve surprised everyone with his insistence that they continue despite his obvious pain, but that was small comfort. The seconds dragged like years, and she fought to conceal her frustration at the fact no one seemed quite as concerned as she felt. There was an inexplicable twisting in her gut like nothing she had felt before and she felt somewhat weakened by it.

It was with bated breath that she watched the chamber open.

Agent Margaret Carter was women enough to admit that when she saw Steve emerge from the chamber, she felt a little faint. Gone were the frail arms and delicate wrists that led down to his oversized hands, gone were the small and bony shoulders and gone were the ribs one could count through his skin. Instead there was a tall, well-muscled physique that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Greek statue. She found herself doubting whether a body like that could be real, but when she reached out to touch him, his chest felt decidedly firm and warm under her touch. She had drawn her hand back quickly, handing him a shirt to cover his modesty. When she averted her gaze and tried to look over his head, she instead found herself staring at his strong jawline.

She had decided at that moment that there was certainly something more than likable about Steve Rogers.

**

When Dr Erskine had told Steve that he was willing to give him a chance, a weight lifted from his shoulders, and the world seemed just that little brighter. It was like everything he had been working towards was finally slotting into place for him: like he was finally becoming the man he was supposed to be all along – and that was before the guarantee of selection, this was just the thrill of being given a chance. He had rushed to tell Bucky before he left, desperate to let someone know of his success and wanting to reassure his friend that he was going to be fighting alongside him soon enough. Bucky had smiled in a knowing way, clapped Steve on the back and he had felt more of a man than he had ever done in his life.

He loved being in the army. He didn’t even mind that fellow recruits like Hodge were always ready to knock him down a peg... or six. He didn’t care that he could barely keep pace with the exercises. He didn’t even mind that the Colonel didn’t seem to like him that much. He was consumed by how much he had done to earn his place in the ranks and how he would finally have his chance to prove that he was much more than a ninety-five pound weakling.

The grenade had bounced on the floor in front of him, almost taunting him, and his mind had reacted differently to everyone else. While everyone else had jumped out of the way he had seen his chance. The reckless, self-destructive side of him won over for just a split second and he was diving on top of the grenade; as if his thin form could have protected anyone from the magnitude of the blast.

Then there was silence. He felt like the eyes of the world were aimed at him.

“Is this a test?” Wide eyes looked at him, and he really thought that he had made a mistake. He had failed their tests, and they had found a reason to ship him back home. He cursed his impulsiveness, and fought desperately against the sting of tears pressing at the corner of his eyes. Thoughts flew to the blade at the bottom of his bag: he was sickened at the thought that he’d let all that hard work go to waste with one stupid action.

He’d never been so glad to realise that he was wrong.

When Erskine had sat him down and explained to him the reason why he had bought him to the base in the first place, he had felt like he was walking on air. He had proved himself to be a hero as far as the Doctor was concerned. Steve felt like he had spoken to God and the man had granted him everything he had ever wanted. Not only was he going to be a soldier - something he had been told he would never be - he was going to become a super-soldier.

The razor lay quickly re-forgotten at the bottom of his bag.

Even when every pair of eyes fell upon him in silent judgement as he entered the procedure room, he didn’t care. They studied every inch of him,made assumptions about him all over again, and for the briefest of seconds he was sure they were all going to break down and laugh at him – but they didn’t.

Glancing around the room, he recognised the somewhat kind eyes of Howard Stark, and felt his cheeks coloring. He never expected the famed inventor to be a part of this experiment. He thought back to the night Bucky shipped out, and couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the look on Bucky’s face when Howard demonstrated his flying car. The look of childish fascination was a final happy memory of his friend, whom he had not spoken to since that evening.

Suddenly, everything seemed very real, it almost seemed too real. His heart pounded in his chest and he could feel his lungs constrict as though they were about to force him into an asthma attack. When Erskine asked him to take off his clothes, his breath caught in his throat as he panicked for the briefest of seconds. Just his shirt and tie were to be removed though, so his secret would stay safe. And even if the blush covering his skin at having to undressing in front of Agent Carter betrayed his innate discomfort, he was secure in the knowledge that the ugly red scars on his legs would remain unseen.

After his moment of panic, he stripped down and climbed into the machine without apprehension. This would be the making of Steve Rogers. He was so sure that Erskine’s procedure would work that he didn’t even question that he might be putting himself in harm’s way.

The injections seared his insides and the Vita-Rays surged through his body, making his skin feel like it was on fire. The container seemed to become more constricting and the gases closed around him, leaving him feeling like has suffocating in flames. It hurt and it was perfect, the agony coursed through his veins and he screamed. Every nerve ending felt as though it was awash with pure energy and as he realised they were about to end his the assault on his body, he screamed out for them to stop. The pain was like the most addictive drug in the world, a brief moment of pure sensation in an otherwise dulled world.

Everything went black.

Darkness as heavy as crude oil enveloped him for the longest time until the doors to the chamber finally let the first sliver of blinding light cascade onto him.

From the moment he stepped out of the chamber, he knew that everything was different. It wasn’t just that he felt different, but everything around him was now foreign. Not only was his viewing angle completely altered, but the colors seemed brighter - more offensive - to his improved eyes. As hands groped his bare skin and aided him to the ground, every touch seemed amplified a thousand times over. Hell, even his sense of smell seemed to be enhanced; it was almost as though he could feel every inch of the world around him, as though it was all connected. It was as disorientating as it was invigorating.

Three seconds passed, and a sudden shot exploded into the room. Steve was forced to watch as the man who had made him, believed in him, who had the potential to be a surrogate father to him, died in his newly strong arms. The first man to give him a real chance (apart from Bucky who had offered him unconditional support but that didn’t translate into success), had paid for it with his life.

Two deep breaths and his mind cleared. From that moment, he knew what he had to do. Throwing himself on top of a moving car had seemed like child’s play and facing down an armed assailant seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t even break into a sweat.

It hadn’t really occurred to him until later that those actions were probably not a normal response to grief. As the assassin chomped down on a last meal of cyanide, he was left with the realisation that despite fighting tooth and nail to attain normalcy, he had managed to make himself even more of a freak. He only had to look down at his new body to see just how different things were. The standard fit SSR shirt pulled against his newly formed physique and the muscles in his arms bunched as he lightly clenched his fist. He could feel the power in each and every sinew.

He swallowed heavily, trying to give his mind a moment to process what had happened. One moment he had been a skinny kid in a lab, and the next minute he was some Charles Atlas action hero. In truth, he had not been expecting such a dynamic change. He didn’t know what he’d signed up for, but he finally realised that it wasn’t this. His stomach rolled over and he couldn’t stop himself dry heaving.


	3. Chapter 3

From the moment Steve stepped out of the Super Soldier machine, he became the exclusive property of the United States Government – and hadn’t that been what he had wanted in the first place? Had he not yearned for the acceptance that the army afforded?

The truth, bitter though it was to swallow, was that achieving his dream had solved hardly any of his problems. The clothes might have been a few sizes bigger but he was still the same man underneath – the same insecure and awkward man who felt he didn’t belong in his own body.

Initially, he had been kept far too busy to let it get on top of him. He had dived into his new life with all the enthusiasm of a girl-crazy teen at the back row of the movies. He was constantly undergoing tests and exercises to see just how much the serum had affected his physical capabilities, and more importantly, studying his body in the hopes of recreating the program. The painful irony of the fact was that even though Steve was the focus of everyone’s attentions, hardly anyone of them seemed to be able to spare him a moment of their time.

Peggy had come to see him a few times, of course, and even Howard had made the odd appearance but Steve knew that they were being reassuring more out of some sense of duty - or worse, pity - than out of any personal interest in him. There was little point in denying it: hiis brain would not allow him to believe that anyone other than Bucky could take him seriously. He had learned all too quickly that everything he thought had been his problem was really what made it easier for him to go unnoticed. The truth was that, no matter how much they changed him, he was never going to be a man that people could truly care for.

The worst part of the whole situation was that there were brief moments when he knew that he was over-reacting and simply giving in to his dark thoughts, and in those moments he had felt like an idiot. But feeling like an idiot was no way to dispel the heavy clouds over his head.

Being the Army’s performing monkey seemed like the only thing he was good for. Tights and a stupid mask allowed him to hide who he was. The crowds seemed to adore him, but he knew well enough not to buy into any of it. The crowds may have screamed almost impossibly loudly for him, and they might have stared in awe at him in the pictures, but that didn’t mean they loved him.

They loved Captain America, not Steve Rogers.

Steve was glad they loved Captain America, and not Steve Rogers. He knew that if they ever looked beneath the glossy red, white and blue veneer, America’s New Hope(TM) would be revealed to be nothing more than a worthless hack. He hadn’t even seen combat. All the cheering in the world couldn’t cover up the voice telling him how much of a disgrace he was to Erskine’s memory. If anyone else had been given such an amazing opportunity, they would have made something of themselves, but he had settled. Settled for pantyhose and make-up and acting like the movie star with the perfect smile when inside he grew more and more to resent the Star Spangled Sham they asked him to be.

Steve was used to accepting his failures, but it was a punch in the gut to realise just how few of them had ever been physical. He didn’t hate himself because his body was against him, he hated himself because no matter how much he had changed himself outside, he was still the scared little boy on the inside.

He couldn’t drink away his black moods, he couldn’t blame it on his scrawny chicken-legs, and he couldn’t escape any way he’d grown used to. Perhaps it would have been easier if he’d had his old coping methods to fall back on, but God, it seemed, was not without a sense of humour. The one thing that he had always had was his ability to get hit. People loved to beat on a little guy; they loved to release all their tensions on someone they knew couldn’t fight back. The problem was that no one seemed quite so eager to beat on someone who might actually do some damage back.

He had tried all of his favourite methods of baiting people: he had saved a waitress from a bunch of over-zealous drunk yobs and had received doubles all night for his trouble. He had pulled a group of three people off a young teenager in an alley. He had pretended to be drunk and tried throwing his weight around a bar, only to be left to his own devices.

Whatever he did the men seemed to leave him alone, they took one look at him and decided he was too much of a threat to be bothered with. More than once he had resorted to punching a wall in sheer frustration, and though he could savour the brief moment of pain, it didn’t give him the same sense of satisfaction as exerting himself in a fruitless fight.

And that wasn’t the only difference. Even the dames acted differently about him. They would come up and talk to him, touch his arm, twist their hair and laugh in high pitched tones at the simplest things that he said. They had made their passes at him and some of the things that came out of their mouths would have been enough to make a sailor blush, he could have taken pleasure in two or three a night, but that wasn’t Steve Rogers. It wasn’t him when he was 95 pounds, and it wasn’t him at 195 pounds either. It just didn’t seem fair to drag them into the mess of his bed, and the mess of his life.

Just when he thought that he had reached his lowest ebb, things got much worse. Five miles from the front, his whole world collapsed around him.

Stupid goddamn self-obsessed Steven. He had spent months wallowing in his own self-pity, focusing on his hang ups and he hadn’t even considered that Bucky would be anything other than safe. While he was sulking and dancing around in his underwear, Bucky was fighting on the front lines for everything Steve claimed to believe in. Bucky had always been the one to save him from every moronic jerk that had beat on him (whether or not he’d deserved it) and now he was lost. Not just fighting. Lost. Bucky was probably dead and decaying on a battlefield and Steve was a princess in tights.

Steve did what he knew how to do best. He cursed and raged, and slammed his fist into the nearest available wall.

 

After that, he was more than ready to do whatever was needed. He’d needed the adrenaline rush of doing something reckless and self-destructive for months (more self-destructive than berating himself in the mirror every night.) Riding high above that, though, above his own cynical reasoning was one simple fact: Bucky would do the same for him.

As he jumped out of the plane amidst the explosions of enemy shells, he felt alive for the first time since the day of his transformation, and as he ran straight into enemy turf he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his system. The strain in his muscles and the burn in his chest as he exerted himself left him feeling like he finally had a purpose.

When the bullet grazed off the shield and tore across the skin of his shoulder, he had to close his eyes for a long moment and savour the pain he had missed so much since his transformation. When he touched his fingers to the blood that seeped from his fresh wound, he could not stop the smile from crossing his lips. He twisted his fingertip deeper into the cut and shuddered.

A steadying breath later and he continued on his mission to save as many prisoners of war as he could. Body after body, swathes of HYDRA assailants fell at his feet and he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. They punched him, shot at him and he smiled as the pain swarmed through his body. For the first time in a long time he felt like he was doing more than just existing.

Even so, when he found the prisoners, it didn’t feel like he had done enough.

He should probably have gone with them, helped them escape the forces of Schmidt, but that was not a part of his agenda. With every fibre of his being he suddenly became certain that Bucky was alive, something was drawing him further into the factory. It could be a trap, he knew, but without Bucky in his life he might as well be dead so he followed his instinct. Perhaps it was the knowledge that good would ultimately overcome evil but somehow he doubted it. The twist in his gut told him it was his need to feel something.

The room was dark, but even in the low light he recognised the man strapped to the gurney.

“I thought you were dead.” Hardly the nicest greeting in the world, but this was Bucky, the man who had never forced him to hide his true nature.

“I thought you were smaller,” the once taller man looked up at him, his eyes wide and confused and Steve was reminded once again how different things were now. His stomach sank as his heart thudded hollowly in his chest, and he felt a crushing need building there that he’d fought off for the longest time.

Steve’s hands were steady and made light work of his belt later that night; he cast off his pants and exposed his thighs to the cool air of the European night. His heart thudded in his chest as he prepared himself for what he was going to do; there was a grim determination and an illicit thrill pulsing through his veins, and he’d not felt either for a long time. The blade glinted in the low light and he felt his chest constrict with excitement as he looked at the metal knife that seemed so much smaller in his new hands.

It had been a torturously long day, everyone had been quick to pat him on the back and no one had let him be all day. All he could thing about was the previous night’s fight and the rush of freedom it had given him. It was a release he had been waiting for - had deserved - for a long time. The walk back to the Colonel had been long and hard, and his thighs burned with the effort, a feeling that only teased at the beautiful ache he was about to inflict upon them.

Now, finally alone, the night had drawn in and the base was silent except for the low whisper of several of the more merry men and the rustling of the trees. He gingerly ran his finger down the side of the blade, his eyes focusing on its simple beauty almost mesmerised by the light tipping off it. He twisted it several times in the light and bit on his lip in a moment of weakness against the anticipating.

The blade moved slowly across the toned flesh of his thigh and closed his eyes to savour the sense of relief that washed over him before drawing the blade across his skin once again. Each stroke was just as empowering as the previous, but with several more cuts it was all over. Too much and the sensation was lost as his body adapted to the pain and it became almost pointless. Plus, the more he cut now, the less he could cut later if he really needed to.

It was all about balance, Steve had learned that when he was just the skinny kid from Brooklyn. The wounds would need time to heal otherwise they could get infected and he had never wanted to have to explain his extracurricular activities to anyone, and he certainly wasn’t about to change that now. He especially hated the idea of explaining the cuts to Colonel Phillips or any of his underlings. The cuts would need time to heal otherwise the sensation might be lost to him forever.

He lay back on the bed and savoured the dull ache across his leg and the feel of his blood cooling in the night air. It was almost arousing in its simplicity. It was a moment of pure contentment, no matter how fleeting, and as his body relaxed he fell into the best sleep he had had in a very long time.

The sound of gunfire woke him just as the early morning sun was climbing over the dew-covered trees. He jumped approximately half a foot off his bed in panic before he was assured that he was still alone. He looked at the dried blood on his leg, and not for the first time, felt ashamed. Quickly he pulled a handkerchief from his bag and dampened it with what was left of his drinking water to quickly remove the evidence of his dirty little secret.

To his surprise as he wiped the cloth over the blood he found that instead of the angry cuts he expected to see were thin red lines of already healing skin. He swallowed heavily at the realisation, before he was shaken from his distraction by the sound of yet more gunfire. He pulled on his pants and headed out to see what the commotion was about.

**

By the time that Sergeant Barnes was rescued, he had lost track of just how long he had been stuck in that room. The hours had blended into days and he had no idea how many days he had been a prisoner of war. Back in the cells it had been easier to maintain a semblance of time passing and he had been in there for over two weeks, but since he had been moved to the infirmary he had no idea how long had passed.

All he remembered was the searing pain of the experimental procedures that the Nazis seemed so fond of. He was far from a fool, he knew that no one had ever returned from a trip to visit the good doctor but that didn’t mean that he didn’t feel pain – even in his half delirious state. All he could think of is keeping his mouth shut and focus on everything that keeps him grounded in reality. He chanted his name out of reflex - name, rank and serial number: that’s all they ever get outta ya, you understand? - because the one thing he needed to cling to was his sense of identity. The only other thing he needed to remember was Steve, and he didn’t need to chant Steve’s name to keep the smaller man’s memory close by.

With all his heart he hoped that Steve had not suffered a similar fate to him: he would rather his weaker friend have been killed than to have to endure the continual probing and pain and emotional torture that he had suffered. And if someone had told him a few months ago that he would have wished Steve dead, then he would have hit them just to make sure they understood that no one was going to hurt his brother.

He was trapped in a wave of restless sleep when the man came to save him. The voice was familiar but he couldn’t quite place the face from his position underneath the other man and he was in no great rush to find his feet. He had stammered out his question and had received an answer that he didn’t think would have made sense even if his head hadn’t been as confused as it was. Steve. He was sure he was dreaming. There was no way that Steve was in Italy; there was no way that his friend had come to save him.

Even if Steve was fighting in Europe there was no way that any military leader would be crazy enough to send in a rescue mission for a bunch of half-dead soldiers. He had to be hallucinating. That was the only rational explanation. He blinked several times, trying to rid himself of the taunting image of his friend. He didn’t even look like Steve, the face was too full and the shoulders were too broad. But even blinking didn’t remove the mystery man from his field of vision. And since when could fever induced visions pull you off a bed?

He only believed that it was actually Steve before him when the disconcertingly larger man touched him gently on the face and smiled like a kid on Christmas. That was exactly the kind of dorky kid brother type of thing that his Steve would do.

“What happened to you?” As his mind cleared he was able to vocalise the question that had bothered him.

“I joined the army.” Steve had replied casually, and Bucky decided that it was mighty inconsiderate of his friend not to inform him of such a turn of events in a letter so that he didn’t have to worry about such things when his head was full of a haze so thick that he could still barely see where he was running.

Still, it was Steve. Alive and well. Better than well even, taller, fitter, and stronger than he had ever been. It was the best of both worlds, and as long as his friend didn’t have the rather unfortunate side effect of a red scull then he was happy for him. After all, it was pretty hard not to be happy for the man who had single-handedly managed to bring down one of Hydra’s bases and save four hundred men.

The walk back to the base was a long one, but Bucky couldn’t help but smile despite his own physical pain.

One day, there were going to be stories about Steve (and not some over exaggerated comics) and he would be able to stand there and tell people that he’d know Captain America since he was a boy, and he was just as amazing then as he had been in the war.


	4. Chapter 4

Peggy could barely believe it when Steve walked back into base, certainly not when he was tailed over three hundred men. Admittedly, some of the men looked more dead than alive, and they all looked as though they had been to hell and back, but this was war: nothing changed the fact that he had led so many of them to safety was a nigh-impossible achievement, and she’d not been able to resist shooting Colonel Phillips a look that practically screamed I told you so. How she had managed to kept her hands off him when he smiled at her, she would never fully be able to understand.

When the unit had regrouped in London, she had met up with Howard for their promised fondue date. There was nothing sexual about their relationship - the men liked to suggest there was, but the men suggested that about everyone she had ever met on base - but she had promised the engineer that if (when, she had always known it would be when) Steve made it back from the HYDRA base, he could take her out to supper. Howard was an easy man to manipulate, even if he knew that she was doing it, and she appreciated him for being the good friend that he was below all of his incessant flirting. Even though he liked to joke, and he especially liked to put on a show when there were other men around, when they were alone he was genuinely one of the nicest people she had met – and she really hadn’t expected him to be.

Whenever they spent time alone together he was always the gentlemen, he would ask her about her day and take a genuine interest in her rather than spending the entire time staring at her chest. If nothing else, it was something of a bonus to have a conversation with a man who had an IQ greater than that of a glass of water. The more she came to think about it, the more she realised that Howard Stark was really rather exceptional. He was not only a successful business man, but also a great inventor and a man who cared deeply about his friends. Really, it was a shame that he wasn’t better at interacting with other people because otherwise he would have made a perfect husband. Not for her, but definitely for someone else.

She supposed it was a testament to how comfortable she felt with the engineer, that she could tell him all about her burgeoning affections for Steve – not that she had been all that subtle about it, even Colonel Phillips had noticed – but it was good to have a man’s opinion on the situation. The problem with Steve, she had explained, was that it was all one great big false start. Just when she thought she had finally managed to get him to feel more comfortable around her was the exact moment when he would push her away. They had almost kissed upon his return, but she had stopped herself, and when Howard had turned up cash in on their bet she had been hoping it was Steve and that he had come to ravish her.

Sadly, all she had gotten instead with was cheese and bread.

Which was in no way a slight against Howard’s friendly invite, but she had let her imagination run away with her, and anything less than Steve had felt like a letdown. In fact, Steve had barely spoken to her since he had gotten back, which was not at all what she had been expecting. She didn’t know what to hope for, but she had been certain that she felt intimations that his feeling for her were more than platonic.

And then she had seen him with Gail.

Of all the things that she had expected of him, she’d never envisaged him turning into another man content to take any piece of skirt that fell into his lap. Nevertheless, he stood in front of her, lips locked with those of the blonde - just another stereotypical captain. She didn’t know why she was so surprised, but she wasn’t above admitting that it had hurt her more than she thought it should have. To compound matters, he was completely oblivious to just why she was so annoyed and even threw out a sly dig about her relationship with Howard. Just another stereotypical captain indeed.

She was annoyed with herself as well as with him: she’d been foolish enough to expect better of Steve, and he, like every other man in her life, had been foolish enough to ultimately let her down.

The satisfaction she felt when she shot the gun at Steve’s prototype shield was unbelievable. She was fully aware that it made her look a tad unhinged - psychotic, perhaps - but she knew that Howard would, if not appreciate her actions, at least not condemn her for them. As for Steve’s opinion, she found herself not caring one iota as she squeezed the trigger.

Her feelings the next day, however, were quite different and she found herself wondering whether she had ruined her potential relationship with Steve.

**

London, Steve observed, was a lot like New York. It was a melting pot which contained the very rich and the very poor, white and black, all types of people flocked to the two cities and turned them into bustling hubs - cities with an incredible identity. Well, perhaps that was the rather romanticised view. Steve had also realised that the people were just as rude on the Subway (Underground, Steven, it’s the Underground, Agent Carter’s irritated tones echoed in his mind) in London as they were in New York. Maybe that was a personal annoyance on Steve’s part: he didn’t have much experience the London sub... with the Underground, but the one time he had travelled on it was enough to ensure that he didn’t wish to repeat the experience in a hurry.

The whole experience of being in London was a surreal one, before the incident on the front lines he had been due to tour the country as Captain America, tights and all. But there had been a shift and the Colonel finally seemed to have warmed to him, much to his own confusion. He had only done what any other man would have in his position. What he should have been doing all along but was too scared to brave. He didn’t do it for praise, he did it because it was the right thing to do.

That was the company line, at any rate. Only he knew any different. He did it because it was what Bucky would have done for him – even if he thought Bucky was dead at the time.

Either way, people looked at him a lot differently since the incident. The military men seemed to respect him, and the women seemed even keener to check out just what effect the serum might have had on the areas of his physique hidden by his uniform. For the most part, he had spent the few days since the incident hoping to appear to be taking things in his stride, while he was privately scrambling to get a handle on this yet further twist on what people expected of him.

The men slapped him on the back and called him a hero, and the women approached him with a vigour that a few months before would have seemed off, but now he was growing used to. Their small hands would snake up his legs and their eyelashes would flutter against their cheeks, but he had always managed to escape their clutches. Gail, however, took him by surprise with her advances and despite his lack of interest in her (hey, he hardly knew her), it was hard to refuse such a forthright woman.

Peggy had been quite perturbed to find him lip-locked with Gail, which Steve couldn’t quite understand. Actually, he had been fairly sure that she was enjoying her bit of fondue with Howard so to say that he was confused by her actions was probably an understatement. In fact, Peggy Carter completely baffled him. She was the only woman who had paid him any attention before his “rebirth” as the army were calling it, although she had been privy to the procedure, and he supposed that was probably why she had showed him her kindness.

Whatever the reason for her attention, he wasn’t adverse to her charms but he understood that she would never want to dance with him let alone... well, it just wasn’t proper to think about it. Not that he hadn’t thought about it... in great detail (he was a red blooded man after all) but he had resigned himself to the fact that he just didn’t understand dames. Men, he observed, might be considered boorish, but were much more blatant with their intentions. Excluding Gail, of course, who was more homing-pigeon than woman.

Bucky had once said to him that dames were simple creatures: women had it programmed in their blood to seek a mate that would dominate them. They wanted a hunter-gatherer type that would be able to protect their nest once they procreated. It was in that moment that Steve had realised, not for the first time, that Bucky, best friend or not, could be full of hot air.

At the time, Bucky had been trying to help him with his inability to talk to women, but instead he had only affirmed Steve’s belief that women could never like him. His friend, of course, had promptly realised his mistake and assured him that it wasn’t physical build that women went for; it was a sense of security and a gentlemanly demeanour. It was the heart of the warrior they craved, not necessarily the muscles that went with it. Steve had remained unconvinced but Bucky had thrown an arm around him and pulled him in for a half-hug and Steve had forgotten to be depressed.

Such memories seemed so far away these days, and even though he had found Bucky alive and well, things were just not the same. He had spent quite a lot of time with his friend, catching up on what had happened since they had parted, but there was unease between them which hadn’t been there before. It was like a knife to Steve’s gut, and hurt him far more than any of the physical pains he had found himself craving. Obviously, Bucky had not said anything, save a few comments about his size and a handful of crude jokes about whether the serum had affected everything. At least, Steve had thought, people were consistent with their line of thinking.

But even awkward moments with Bucky were better than not having him around.  
Then it had happened.

 

Peggy had come to find him in the bar the previous night to let him know that Howard was working on some new weapons for him. Bucky had stared at the way her red dress clung to the perfect contours of her body. But that wasn’t so surprising: there wasn’t a man in the bar who wasn’t gazing at her. He had expected Bucky to work his usual magic and take her dancing, but to his surprise her eyes were focused only on him, the moisture on her lips glistened slightly in the low light and her eyes drilled into his. The attention made him blush, made him almost feel proud, until Bucky had spoken.

“I’m invisible... I’m turning into you.” Bucky had joked in his lowest voice, breaking their unwritten code and pointing out the switch in power in their relationship. And although Bucky was still Bucky - strong, and brave, and the best friend Steve would ever know, he could not deny that next to him he did kind of look small these days. “This is a horrible dream,” he had added, almost too softly to hear. Those five words were all it took to break Steve Rogers.

“Don’t take it so hard,” Steve had murmured, not sure whether he was defending Bucky’s honour or hiding his own hurt. He was even less sure if it mattered which it was. He’d patted Bucky on the shoulder, the action feeling stilted and alien. “Maybe she’s got a friend,” he tried to joke.

Neither of them laughed.

-

 

Steve liked attention from women; it let him forget, even if only for a moment, all the things that he hated about himself. He liked that someone could see the good in him, and it made him feel connected to all the people who didn’t see him as just a science experiment. That said, he knew that he’d trade it all in a snap of his fingers if he could go back to being the string-bean little runt from Brooklyn if it meant Bucky wouldn’t resent him.

Aside from the dames, he could at least find comfort at the edge of his blade. Since he'd given in and allowed himself to remember the exquisite sting of bleeding the bad from himself, he'd found it easier to clear his head. It wasn't as thought it was an addiction - there was no constant need, and he didn't go into tremors when he was unable to slice through his skin, but it was the one constant in his life when everything else had changed. Though he knew he had problems, he also knew that unburdening himself upon anyone would not only be selfish, it would more than likely get him a dishonourable discharge. And, as he seemed to be discover more and more, being Captain America was the only thing he had ever been good at.

As Captain America, he was making a difference - the right kind of difference. He did his best to take solace in that fact while the previously unshakable foundations in his life suddenly found themselves in flux.

Hell, even his uniform had changed from Captain America’s reassuring red, white and blue attire to the greens of an army Captain, which was probably another reason people were looking at him differently. Nevertheless, he was glad to be told that he would be fitted for another ‘more practical’ uniform which would be designed to best utilise the symbolic nature of his alter-ego. He had even sketched what he had in mind, but he was unsure of whether Howard would be able to create a functional outfit which incorporated what Steve wanted to represent. In any case, Steve knew that he would be able to hide himself fully behind the mask of Captain America.


	5. Chapter 5

For all the men in the barracks believed otherwise, Howard Stark had llittle interest in trying to bed Agent Carter. While she was beautiful (and she was: Howard was dispassionate about her looks, not blind), her intellect was what made her interesting. She was the only woman (and Howard had met a lot of women) who had ever been able to keep up with his wit and he appreciated her deeply for it. If having Carter as a friend meant that he had to listen to her lamenting any of Captain Rogers’ abortive attempts to woo her, then it was a sacrifice he was happy to make. Her curiosity towards Rogers made her a poor bet for a bed-partner, and Howard Stark didn’t place good money on bad odds. It should not have been funny, but he had always been able to see humour when there wasn’t any, and he actually found it quite ironic that their (mostly) mutual lack of interest made Agent Carter more suited to him than any number of the women he had found himself with before or during the war.

He took some solace in the fact that once Sergeant Barnes had returned to the fold that Steve had seemed far less interested in the British agent. Well, in truth he was not exactly sure whether the distance Steve had placed between them had come when Barnes had returned from Hydra captivity, or after she had shot at him. Even Howard had to admit that he would probably have backed off if a woman of such fortitude had emptied a magazine at him in the middle of his workroom.

Generally though, Howard tried not to think too much about either Peggy or Steve as people, because it only caused a distraction from his work, and that was of no benefit to anyone. Agent Carter was beautiful, intelligent, and filed solely in the ‘friend’ column of Howard’s brain. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever had a female friend before, and he had to supress a pang of disappointment and refuse to let himself dwell on the issue.

While he tried not to think about Steve Rogers, all of his work still revolved around Captain America, and there was little he could do to ignore the blue-eyed blond specimen of male perfection. As a man who lived for the challenge of the perfect design, it galled Howard that while Steve was a great man of amazing strength, dexterity and physicality, he suffered from a gross lack of self-awareness. He supposed that Dr Erskine’s formula hadn’t been developed to heighten any social graces. And, awkward or not, there were not too many men that would have thrown themselves straight into the arms of a worldwide enemy to save a friend – Howard knew that he wouldn’t. Steve’s valour was probably the reason Howard found himself so intrigued, and why he had agreed to help him behind enemy lines.

Even during that one meeting, he had ascertained that Steve was pretty nice guy, and certainly lived up the expectation everyone had for him to be a hero. He was just so damn likeable. And if he hadn’t been so damn likable, Howard probably would have hated him just a little bit.

From the way that Peggy fawned over him (treating him as a firing range notwithstanding), it was evident that she also saw the innate good in him. Howard had come to value her opinion more than he trusted his own, so he had decided to throw himself into helping the young Captain. All of which was why he had found himself trying to figure out the best attire to clothe Steve in.

Howard had not thought about Steve Rogers’s physique since the moment he had stepped out from the transformation chamber, his skin glistening with sweat and around six inches taller than he had been less than five minutes before. However, the prospect of fitting the younger man for a new uniform had caused the topic to wander into his mind once again, much to his confusion. Having the man stand in front of him had certainly left him momentarily speechless and he couldn’t deny that it was hard not to appreciate Captain America’s form. Not that he was at all that way inclined, but it was hard not to welcome the image of the perfect specimen of masculinity when it was thrust in front of you. Plus, he reasoned, as jobs went, it was pretty swell that he would be able to tell his future children all about the time he helped create an icon.

Even fully clothed Steve’s body was impressive to behold, when Howard came to look at it: a true miracle of science, and were he honest with himself, he would have loved to synthesise some serum for his own personal use. The idea of wielding that much power was intoxicating, but there was only so much one man could do with mechanical engineering, even if that one man was the best mechanical engineer in the country.

“I need you to strip,” he found himself ordering in a strict voice, almost too strict as though he was feeling guilty because of his unchecked thoughts and he winced slightly at the look of discomfort that passed over the bigger man’s face. “Don’t worry, you can keep your drawers on. I have no desire to look at your piece,” he drawled, trying to maintain an air of professionalism and hide the relief that his last sentence wasn‘t a lie.

Steve nodded, but seemed in no rush to follow the order, which was just as well, since Howard was still racking his memory, desperately trying to remember how his tailor fitted him for his own suits.

Steve took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. Last night‘s marks on his thighs were already healed enough not to be red-raw, but there was no way of disguising them entirely, and he was almost certain that the scientist would recognise them as anomalous, even if he wouldn‘t know the exact reasons for their existence. He just had to hope that the older man was discreet enough not to mention that there had been no record of him being injured on his legs during his earlier battle. The air felt cool against his arms as he pulled off his shirt, and, with Howard’s back still to him, he pulled down his pants and felt the tension coursing through his veins as he did.

For his part, Howard turned around, and raised an eyebrow despite himself, as his eyes drank in the blonds exposed form. Steve couldn’t help the blush that rose through his body at the action, since Howard had not been at all subtle. He still wasn’t used to people looking at him like that, regardless of whether it was just an innocent awe. Stood in front of Howard in just his underwear, he felt stripped bare in more than just the literal sense. He had been completely stripped of the guise of the Captain which allowed him to be so different to the man of who he really was.

Howard took his measurements almost painfully slowly, desperate to make sure that he didn’t make a mistake and completely oblivious to the fact that no one else had ever touched Steve like that before. This thought only managed to make Steve blush a deeper red. Dropping down to his knees Howard began to take both the inside and outside leg measurements, his breath unintentionally hot against Steve’s crotch and causing the taller man to bite down on his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Now was not the time to lose control.

As Howard moved to measure the second leg, he inevitably noticed the myriad cuts on the Super Soldier’s thigh and paused for a brief moment. He observed that some looked relatively new, but a lot of them looked at least a few weeks old. As Steve had predicted, the engineer put two and two together and quickly saw a truth which no one else had ever seen. Upon realising he had been still too long when Steve coughed; he quickly took the rest of his required measurements and told Steve to get dressed.

Steve let out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding and dressed in quick silence.

“I, uh,” he stuttered as he belted up his pants, “is there anything else you need me for?” His fumble did not go unnoticed and Howard looked at him for a long moment over the silver rims of his expensive looking glasses as though he was about to say something important. But when he spoke it was in a clear and confident tone.

“Well, I really just need to make up the suit now. I mean, I have your designs and I have your, uh, measurements so I think that’s about it.” Steve smiled uneasily as Howard continued to look at him, once again looking like he was about to say something. It was a look that told Steve that all of his fears had been confirmed. Howard was a genius, had Steve really expected anything less? When he failed to speak, however, Steve took it as an excuse to take his leave and turned towards the door, only to have Howard call him back.

“Captain, that is, Steve… if you ever need to talk-,” he paused, and Steve locked eyes with him, his cheeks flushed, but his gaze icy.

“Thank you for your help today, Mr Stark,” Steve said firmly, and pulled the heavy door firmly shut behind him.

Howard sighed heavily as he stared at the closed door; he really needed to talk to someone. He pinched the bridge of his nose and knew he only really had one option. Peggy, she was the only option he really had. If anyone could find out what was going on with the Captain it was going to be her. It was obvious that Steve had designs on the feisty woman, and she might just get close enough to him to be able to help.

The mechanical engineer smiled in determination, unaware that the Captain had gone back to his bunk that night and cut two deep slashes in his other thigh.

**

The next day, newly fitted in his full Captain attire, Steve was felt moderately more positive about himself as a whole. It wasn’t often that he saw what other people could see in him, but that morning was certainly one of those moments. He liked the way the stripes accentuated how tiny his waist looked in comparison to the breadth of his shoulders and the power suggested by the bulk of his arms. But best of all, he liked the way the helmet covered his face and hid him further from the world. As he was lead down the hall to the awaiting officers, he liked the way people looked at him with a slight fear in their eyes – as though everyone else was finally aware that he wasn‘t one of them either. It was oddly empowering. His whole life he had never really managed to fit in, and even though the military was supposed to offer the chance to be part of a team, he knew that he was once again to be the exception. Despite having fought to fit in all this life, he found himself no longer caring.

His mission had become more important to him than his personal dramas and it felt good to feel the pressure of people excepting him to succeed. He was going to destroy Hydra and rid the world of a crazed madman, and if he had to push aside his emotions to do it, then so be it. If he had to destroy himself to achieve his goals, then he would do what was necessary. It didn’t matter if Steve Rogers was no more, all that mattered was that the country that a figure to inspire them in their fight. Who wanted Steve Rogers when they could have Captain America?

Even as he stood in front of the Colonel and the collection of other military leaders modelling his new outfit, he couldn’t believe the faith they were putting in him. Every day since he had found Bucky and they had decided that perhaps the experiment had worked, he kept waiting for them to realise that they shouldn’t have put their trust in him. He appreciated it, sure, but he couldn’t help but wonder why they couldn’t seem to see just how close to the edge he really was.

Their smiles were bright and their conversation excited, but Steve didn’t hear a single word they said. All that was evident to him was the way that Howard’s eyes burned into him. Steve looked away, cut off from the world by the blood rushing through his body, the nervous twinge in his knees and the sound of his heart thudding in his ears. He was completely locked away from the teams celebration for all things Captain America related, (and, indeed Steve related), by his own hang ups.

He could tell that he had not heard the last from Howard on the subject.

Of all the people he had expected to find out his secret, he would have put Howard near the bottom of the list, even though that only really made him third on the list of his friends. The young genius seemed far too involved in himself to notice anyone else, but then again, he had the advantage of seeing Steve stripped down to his essentials when no one else had. Even Bucky had only ever seen him with long shorts on, and he didn’t make a habit of taking his shirt off either. Even so, he would have appreciated having the conversation with Bucky a lot more than he was going to appreciate the inevitable conversation with Howard.

Bucky, at least, would try and understand what was going through his head. Bucky would see that he was just exercising his own self-control and teach him that while it was a valid choice he would be better not doing it. Then he would pretend to agree for Bucky’s sake and be much more careful in the future. Steve sighed at this realisation. He knew he could lie and act as though he was okay to everyone else, but he couldn't hide from himself and from the realisation that he was probably in more trouble than he cared to believe.


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky had to admit that he was not Captain America’s biggest fan, which was not to say that he didn’t still love Steve Rogers. When everyone had started reading the Captain America comic books he had laughed at the red, white and blue covered man and had thought the idea of a super-fighter selling comics and war bonds rather defeated the point.

That had been until he had found out that Steve - his little Steven Rogers from Brooklyn - was Captain America. He wasn’t sure what was more disconcerting: the fact that the man he had grown up with had seemingly disappeared, or the fact that Steve was an icon. Either way, initially, he hadn't been against the idea of his friend being a war hero. Ihat had been everything Steve had ever wanted, so he had been deeply happy for his friend.

But that joy had been fleeting, and once he had been released from the medic tent and shipped off back to England, he could see the frightening truth: Steve was being overtaken by his role, by his duty to be Captain America. It was as though he could see everything that he appreciated his friend for crumbling around him. He was no longer quite as shy, he could no longer disappear when no one was looking, he no longer made silly comments that made no one but Bucky laugh (and that was only because he felt bad for him) and he no longer pulled out his book to draw elaborate sketches.

Bucky couldn’t help but feel that by trying to improve him, the Army had somewhat ruined Steve.

He was made to feel worse about the situation because Steve had barely bothered to speak to him after they had arrived back on base. He understood that his friend was suddenly very much in demand, but had they been back in Brooklyn, there wasn't a task in the work that would have stopped him from checking on Bucky first. However, he couldn’t exactly complain because that would just make him sound like a love-struck dame. Hell, he hated himself for thinking such thoughts, so God knows what the rest of the men would say.

(Bucky knew exactly what the other men would say, which was another reason to keep his feelings, warranted or not, to himself.)

Replacement, Bucky decided, was a horrible feeling. He had expected Steve to replace him at some point; he had just assumed that it would be with the women who had deemed him worthy of marriage, not with some genius millionaire inventor that he could never compete with.

Was he jealous of Howard Stark? Who the hell wasn’t? Bucky consoled himself with the knowledge that a lesser man would have trouble admitting that. But he had been through hell for his country and from what he had seen Howard had spent most of his time making advances on grief-stricken women. And now he was back in the ranks and Steve was busy ignoring him to watch the boy wonder tinker with his toys.

When Steve had sat next to him at the pub and asked him if he would follow ‘Captain America’ into the jaws of death, he had told him in no uncertain terms that he was following the skinny kid from Brooklyn. He meant it with every fibre of his being, and without any malice. If Steve would just speak to him he was sure that they would be able to slide back into their old friendship, but it was difficult to retail the illusion of a partnership when he felt as though they were barely on speaking terms.

Actually, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Steve was speaking to him, but there was a distance between them that had not been there before and Bucky found himself resenting it. He might have wanted to talk to someone about his experiences within the realms of Hydra, and if that was the case, then Steve should know that the only person he wanted to speak to about it was him. And Steve seemed to have better things to do. Luckily for the Captain, Bucky was in no rush to relive his experiences within the Nazi base and doubted that he ever would be, but it would have been nice if Steve had actually asked him.

No, he had decided, he was not jealous of Stark, (well excluding the amount of women that dropped at his feet), but he was really rather annoyed at his best friend. And his annoyance had only deepened when Peggy was joined in her incessant pursuit of the blond by Howard, whom Bucky had never, ever, thought would swing that way. But apparently everyone but him was attracted to this new Steven Rogers.

Bucky was torn between wanting to punch him and confessing that he actually missed his best friend.

**

For his part in the whole slightly bizarre situation, Howard had no intention of trying to engage Steve in conversation, which was precisely why he had decided to enlist the help of Peggy. He had toyed with wooing he fire-cracker of a woman since the first time he had met her, well over a year previously, but he was not so stupid that he couldn’t see that her affections lay with a certain crusading Captain. And by that logic he figured that, with a little pushing, he could convince her that she would be serving her country by acting on such urges. He wrinkled his nose slightly, as he realised that line of thought made him feel vaguely like a pimp.

Nevertheless, once Howard Stark had made his mind up about something, he was going to make it happen. This was one of the reasons why he was so successful in business, and certainly why he was such a prolific mechanical engineer – he had the gift of perseverance. While he was incredibly good at formulating plans, he just wasn’t all that brilliant at connecting with people in any other way but flirting, and he didn’t think that Steve would have appreciated that.

As the meeting disbanded, with his costume design winning much praise, he caught Peggy’s attention and indicated for her to follow him. She did follow; of course, people very rarely refused Howard Stark anything, even if it was against their better judgement, which was one of the reasons why he was so surprised he had not managed to coax her into bed. Then again, her fiery spirit was the thing that made Peggy Carter so damn attractive to most men.

Damn Steve Rogers and his wide-eyed heroism, he cursed silently wondering for a moment as they sought privacy, why he felt so compelled to rescue the other man. It wasn’t as though he were some besotted schoolgirl like Gail. But since Steve was a hero, it seemed only right to make sure he was in a good state of mind.

“I do hope this isn’t another thinly veiled attempt to plunder my virtue, Mister Stark.” She emphasised the word Mister, as though to point out that he would do better to watch his tongue while he was working under the jurisdiction of the United States Army. Howard fought the urge to reply with another cheesy pick up line, which was a miracle when he was talking to a woman as attractive as Peggy.

“It appears I can’t even share some dinner with a woman these days without it being misconstrued as a play for her affections,” he replied, his voice clipped. Their conversation often followed this path, a kind of playful dance that would never end. He smiled, and she returned the gesture with easy affection.

“Then what do you want then, Howard?” Her accent sometimes had the effect of making her seem aloof but those who knew her understood that she was a highly passionate woman.

“It’s the simple matter of our good Captain Rogers.” She raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. “It seems our good friend has an unfortunate habit.” He struggled to find the words to describe what he had seen. It might not have been a big deal, but Howard, though not learned in psychology, was certain that cutting oneself was an indicator of deeper issues.

“Neither alcohol or narcotics would have an effect on...” she began but Howard waved his hand in dismissal.

“It’s nothing like that," he said, but gave no indication that he planned to continue.

“Then what...?” she asked, puzzled.

“I can’t be completely sure but I just..." he tailed off, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just call it a hunch,” She raised her eyebrow once again and Howard sighed and went on to describe the incident in as much detail as he could conjure up from memory. He described the scars in detail and explained his assumption that it was something he had done before, not a recent thing. Peggy stood in a relatively subdued silence for a long moment after he had finished explaining things to her.

She understood her part, and she would play it well. Howard believed that she might be the one person that would get close enough to Captain Rogers to charm him into letting her in on his secret. Or, at the very least, she would see some actual physical evidence of his actions so she could force the issue. Perhaps not the most scientific of notions but it was the best they had.

**

As if turned out, it actually wasn’t as easy to manipulate Steve as Peggy had assumed it was going to be. Having witnessed how incapable of saying no to Gail he had been, she had believed that all she would have to do was get him alone and get down to business. Steve, however, had different ideas on romance to every other man she had encountered and he refused to do anything ‘improper’ and so allow her close enough to ‘discover’ his scars.

If truth were told, she was not all that bothered about that fact; it was nice to be courted, to be treated as a lady for once in her life. She had spent her entire adult life fighting to gain success as a woman in a man’s world. Obviously, the war had ultimately helped her cause, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want it over with, and that had been why she had been so keen to assist in the Super Soldier Program. She hadn’t actually believed that Doctor Erskine was capable of the incredible things he had promised but she had to have hope – it was the only thing that wasn’t on ration these days.

She couldn’t help but be pleased when Steve had been chosen – glad that someone had finally seen past the physical to the good man he was inside. Well, that, and she was really glad that Hodge had been removed from the equation; a man like that certainly didn’t deserve the chances offered. The more time she spent with Steve the more he managed to endear himself to her, and though she wondered whether he noticed at all, she knew it was painfully obvious to anyone who cared to notice that she was pretty smitten with him.

So, Howard’s revelation had come a as a shock to her, and from that moment on she had tried to be even more encouraging, whether it be in her assurances that he was a great leader or her continued advances on him.

The only problem with Steve, as far as Peggy was concerned, was his distinct awkwardness around women. Sure, they could talk when someone was around, but when they were left to their own devices he seemed to become more introverted and would answer her with a shy smile and a spreading blush. Sure, they had kissed a couple of times, but she was no closer to getting him out of his clothes than Howard was.

Which is why she and Howard had gotten together and changed tactics. The engineer had become almost obsessed with Steve, in a way that was almost disconcerting, but Peggy knew that he had Steve’s best interests at heart – although why he couldn’t just come out and confront Steve was beyond her. Obviously it wasn’t proper for her to ask him, since it would undermine their burgeoning relationship, but Howard was convinced that Steve knew that he knew his secret, so why not just face up to it? The engineer had ranted about the dynamics of a male friendship and how you couldn’t just leap into such things. Peggy thought that sounded like a lot of nonsense, but she couldn’t pretend to be the expert on male exchanges.

Despite his unwillingness to confront Steve, Howard had been working overtime on the cause and while Peggy’s research had come up with nothing, he had managed to revolutionise the traditional film cameras. The camera he had fitted in Steve’s room was no more than the side of a rolled up newspaper and had been securely hidden in the ceiling vent above the Captain’s bed. Peggy had to admit that she was pretty impressed with the ingenuity, but made a mental note never to consummate their relationship in Steve’s bed.

All they had to do was wait.


	7. Chapter 7

The wait, it turned out, was longer than either Peggy or Howard had been anticipating. The thing that neither had yet to discover about Steve was that he could seek his thrill of blissful pain in other, less obvious ways, such as skidding off his motorcycle or a bit of purposeful underestimation of an enemy. More than once he had deliberately allowed himself to be swiped at by an opposing fighter and though it didn’t give him the same satisfaction as his other methods it was better than nothing, and he had decided that he needed to be careful since Howard had noticed his cuts.

However, as the weeks drew on Steve became more and more confident that Howard had decided not to press the issue. It had been a long week by the time Steve arrived back at the base, Montgomery had gone and got himself injured and Steve couldn’t help but feel responsible - even if Montgomery had admitted that he had been reckless. Bucky had tried to make a joke that the bullet had only grazed his crotch and there it wasn’t like he needed anything down there. He had done the expected thing and laughed, for it was acceptable to do that when someone was alive and talking – even if he did look paler and more relieved than Steve had ever seen anyone be.

But it wasn’t just Montgomery’s injury which had irritated him, it was also the fact that they had ultimately failed in their reconnaissance mission. So one of his team had been severely injured, Bucky had a bruise proudly displayed on his face and they hadn’t even managed to do what they had gone in there to do. Everyone had tried to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault and that he did well to get his whole team out of the situation in one piece. Hell, they even tried to console him with the fact that nothing could ever be a hundred percent certain in war and that it was just one of those things that was out of his control. But it didn't make a damn bit of difference to him.

He was their leader, they had been ambushed and his troops had been demolished, there was no one to blame but him. It was his first failure as their Captain and he even though he had taken some beatings himself – more than anyone else actually – it had not felt like enough. A large German had kicked seven pounds of crap out of him before he had finally took him out and it didn’t even touch the twist in his gut.

His team had failed and someone needed to be punished for it. And if the Army had decided that they weren’t going to do it then that meant that someone else would have to. Bucky, obviously noticing his frustrations, had invited him to go drinking, but that held no release for him these days and he wasn’t going to make things more awkward between him and his best friend by letting him in on that piece of information.

In the end, his Sergeant had admitted defeat and left him in the base to “sleep off” his mood. Steve couldn’t say that he wasn’t thankful for that – not that he had any intention of sleeping it off - but he was sure that he would feel a lot better in the morning. He didn’t rush off to bed; instead he took the time to get some food, to talk with a few of the men and even to spend some time with Montgomery. Each minute that he wasn’t alone in his room was building the anticipation in his gut and ultimately making the release even greater.

His room was dark, but the low light seemed to suit his mood, and as he entered he felt the release already beginning to drain from his tired shoulders. Crossing the room in four large strides he pulled his blade from his bag, completely unaware that Howard was watching everything back in his workshop. Steve’s habit had become almost ritualistic at this point, and although he admired the way the light from his lamp glinted off the edge of the blade, it didn’t distract him from the slight tremor in his hand.

He was starting to worry about how much his only form of control was beginning to control him.

**

Howard watched as Steve sat down on the bed and observed the blade. A feeling of misplaced satisfaction swelled within him. He knew that it was wrong to be glad that Steve was about to cut himself and prove him right, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug. So that gave him yet another reason why he was probably going to end up in hell. He added it to his mental tally chart, and returned to his viewing.

He stood up as he watched Steve pull down his pants and take his position back on the bed with a renewed fascination towards his blade. Watching the man enjoying such a private experience was almost voyeuristic and even someone as brash as Howard wanted to turn it off and ignore the whole thing. But he really didn’t have that option available to him; because he couldn’t go barging into the room before he had his evidence since that rather defeated the object of his endeavour.

On the screen, his friend took a steadying breath and pricked his finger with the blade, no doubt testing its sharpness. He smiled in obvious satisfaction as the blade drew blood from his finger tip and took a steadying breath before he drew the blade across his already scarred thigh.

Steve hadn’t even finished his first cut by the time Howard was out of his workroom door and running full pelt across the army base. In hindsight, the mechanic wished that he had thought about what he was going to do when he had his evidence, but sadly foresight had not been a particular gift of his. When he reached the door to Captain Rogers’s room he didn’t even bother trying to stop, instead he slammed through the door, jarring his shoulder as he did so, and bounded into the room.

It was awkward. More awkward than Howard had thought it should have been. Steve looked up at him, fear in his eyes and the blade still in his hand. For the longest of moments Howard said nothing, and actually considered just leaving, Steve’s eyes looked bluer than usual in the dark light of the room and though he didn’t break eye contact with Howard he managed to rid himself of the weapon.

A million thoughts ran through Howard’s head and not one of them seemed to be completely relevant to the current situation. For once in his life Howard found himself speechless. He honestly couldn’t think of anything suitable to say, and Steve sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything he just sat there, his pants around his ankles staring at Howard.

“Do you do it a lot?” Howard finally blurted out, and Steve continued to stare at him as though he hadn’t said anything. “Have you always done it?” He added quickly, both unable to stop his mouth from getting ahead of him and genuinely interested in the answer. Steve merely grunted, but curiously enough glanced over at his discarded knife. Howard took a few steps forward, softening his voice before his next question but still managing to sound patronising.

“Have you considered not doing it?” He tried to smile but it felt uneven on his lips, and faltered completely as Steve drew himself to his full height and pulled up his pants. The two men sized him up for a long moment until Steve crossed his arms, emphasising their size difference and for the briefest of seconds the genius feared that he would be on the receiving end of Captain America’s fist.

The brunette moved from foot to foot and tried to get his mind to come up with a coherent line of discussion. “Have you considered jogging instead?” Steve looked almost pained and raised an eyebrow in a silent question that Howard missed completely due to his mental chastising of his brain. Jogging? Greatest scientific mind in the country and his only suggestion was jogging?! “You don’t want to talk about this do you?” Steve still didn’t speak, but kept his eyes fixed on the brunette as though if he stared at him for long enough he might just disappear and everything would be over and done with. Howard took a step back towards the door, and Steve briefly believed his silent treatment had succeeded.

Then again, Howard had never been easily put off, and even as he backed off towards the door he felt that he couldn’t leave the conversation there. “What about mechanics?” He suggested to the still silent room and the blond let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll bring you a book on mechanics.” Howard nodded, taking the sigh as a positive and hi tailed it out of the room before the situation became any more uneasy.

**

Steve had watched in complete despondency as Howard stumbled out of the door in an almost blind panic. He had thought he was safe, and he had deemed that he was out of danger and yet somehow (and Steve really needed to know how), the engineer had managed to catch him in the act of slicing a long gash in his thigh. There was a moment of blind panic and he had not been able to disguise his actions. The silence that had followed Howard’s, dramatic as usual, entrance had been deafening and it was all that Steve could do to remember to breath.

It was horrific. The unease in the air was so thick that he could taste it, a lingering bitterness on the edge of his tongue, and he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t form the words as though his mind knew that there was no logic to his situation, and even if it had done it would have failed him anyway because Stark was a genius. There was no point in a battle of wits when you would lose, the best thing to do was what he had always done – suck it up and take the pain.

That, at least, he was good at.

As he finally rid himself of the blade, Howard began doing a strange dance from foot to foot and a bright hue had risen across his features. If Steven didn’t know better he would have said that the genius was at a loss for words rather than just waiting to see what he had to say for himself. A more innocent man might have run his mouth a little bit, left Howard with no choice but to remove himself from the situation.

But Steve couldn’t.

He had, instead, gotten very defensive. He had taken the opportunity to redress himself and cover his modesty. It was still striking to Steve that he was now taller than so many of the people who surrounded him, and standing taller than Howard was no different. As the conversation had continued, and the intruder had become more and more nervous he had taken the opportunity to emphasise the size difference, much to his own disgust. He had never tried to intimate someone before (not that he could have back in Brooklyn) and it didn’t make him feel any better about himself.

His secret was out in the open now, and there was no point in trying to deny it. Howard owed him nothing, and now he had caught him in the act he could go straight to the Colonel and Steve would be sent straight to the nearest asylum. He already felt as though he was treading a tightrope as far as Phillips was concerned and he knew that it would not take a lot for the older man to send him on his way.

To add to his misery, he had no one he could confide in. Even though Bucky was around he had not warmed to his new appearance and Steve did not want to push his luck and force any unwanted interaction. Not for the first time, he wished he was back in Brooklyn.


	8. Chapter 8

Following his very unusual conversation, (if you could call a lot of inane questions a conversation), with Captain Rogers, Howard decided that the best course of action was to go and get as drunk as physically possible. Sure, he considered calling Peggy, but it was past ten and he didn’t think she would take all that kindly to being disturbed so late in the night. Drinking alone had been a been an option, but he wasn’t sure that he trusted himself to be alone given how suddenly down he felt. It was bizarre how seeing behind the veil was so emotionally draining and drinking alone always made him feel miserable.

So his only option was to go out and drink with the rest of the boys.

Of course, he drank a couple of swift doubles to get him in the mood for the serious drinking that he was going to in the bar. He wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting from the younger man. An outburst of some sort? Tears? Violence? A small breakdown? Maybe even violence? All of these options seemed to be valid, and yet the complete lack of response that he had received made him feel oddly empty. Had he rushed to become involved so he could feel like some sort of hero? He hadn’t thought so, but now he was beginning to reconsider that.

The bar he found was a typical English one, full of military men, and women who were seeking husbands. Howard wondered whether such girls realised the real dangers the men faced out in the rest of Europe or whether they just saw a bunch of well dressed potential husbands. It was enough to make him crave a drink even more, and he pushed his way to the front of the bar ignoring the groans of complaint from the service men.

He was served quickly, much to the displeasure of those around him and turned on the bar, hoping to see at least one person that he actually knew. Fortunately for him, Barnes had secured himself a table at the back end of the bar and looked like the only plan in his mind was to obliterate the whole of his last mission from his memory.

“Fancy some company?” He said somewhat half-heartedly, but he had already taken stool and dragged it towards the table. Bucky did not look all that impressed, and Howard could not be certain whether it was company in general he did not appreciate or his particular company - although, if he had to guess, he would have said the latter.

“Do I have a choice?” Bucky bit back, his voice already rough with alcohol. This was the first time they had any social interaction but they had met a few times before and that made the young sergeant the best option for some serious drinking in the bar, even if he didn’t seem particularly receptive.

“It appears not,” Howard conceded the point. “But if it’s any consolation,” he placed his wallet on the table, “the drinks are on me?” Bucky nodded in slow appreciation and took a quick mouthful from his glass. “Looks like it’s been a rough day for the pair of us.” Howard began, motioning to the collection of empty glasses surrounding the solider and vaguely wondered why none of them had been collected yet.

“Try a rough week.” He raised his glass and Howard smiled in agreement and they both took a long drink.

The evening drew on in much the same manner, except somewhere along the line the empty glasses had been removed and replaced with a (suddenly) half-empty bottle of bourbon. They quickly found that the more they drank the easier the conversation seemed to flow, and that they actually enjoyed getting to know each other, even professing their love for each other a few times.

“You know Steve is lucky to have someone like you watching his back, I mean even that outfit doesn’t look too ridiculous.” Bucky confessed, the alcohol had made his skin redden and his eyes appear glassy. “When am I getting one? Can’t all be about the pretty boy,” there was no malice in Bucky’s voice; instead there was a vague undercurrent of sibling rivalry.

“You know Agent Carter has her eyes on him?” Howard explained, he didn’t even know why he was even talking about it, because he was fairly sure that everyone knew that.

“She ain’t got eyes for no one else.” Bucky confirmed laughing low in his throat and took a long drink from his glass before pouring himself another one. “What’s a guy to do when he ain’t getting any action from anywhere?” There was an odd bitterness in his tone that remained unexplained, but Howard was quick with a rebuff.

“Speak for yourself,” he replied in a most affected tone.

“Well, not, no action,” he clarified the slight twinkle in his eye indicating that he had one particular encounter in mind. “But not as much as I could be,” there was a brief pause, “not when blue eyes is kicking around.” Once again there was no malice, only affection, but Howard couldn’t help but feel like Bucky wasn’t altogether comfortable with playing second fiddle to Steve.

“It’s not nice to be jealous,” he said over the lip of his glass.

“Who said I’m jealous?” Bucky bit back again and Howard could tell that he had struck a nerve. “He wouldn’t know what to do with a good woman if she came with instructions,” Howard couldn’t help but smirk at that, “but they seem to be willing to teach him.” There was an odd emotion in his voice that Howard might have recognised if he was sober, but sobriety seemed a long time ago. “Dames ,eh?” Bucky added after a thoughtful pause, as though overcompensating, but the engineer nodded anyway and they both took a swig from their glasses.

“I’ve come to realise that women like the illusion of perfection.” Stark almost laughed at his own words, in his experience women certainly did like perfection but they didn’t stick with it, most women still wanted a man who was a bit rough around the edges. Which was fortunate because it meant there would always be women willing to satisfy him? The young sergeant smiled greatly, and Howard thought it was odd for him to seek amusement in a jibe against his friend.

“God knows what they’d do with Steve then,” they shared a knowing smile and there was a definite resentment in that smile.

“He is kind of perfect isn’t he?” Howard said somewhat wistfully, but it was probably the alcohol talking. Bucky, however, was used to imbibing huge amounts of alcohol and did not miss the affection in his voice. He raised a questioning eyebrow but didn’t question Howard further.

“Been trying to beat that out of him since he was thirteen,” Bucky didn’t even bother to try and hide his affection, and Howard could tell that he was reminiscing on times gone by, although it didn’t occur to him what that meant until later.

“Not going well?” They both laughed at this, seeing the underlying joke and probably succumbing to the effects of the alcohol.

“Well, he’s a stubborn son of a bitch.” The brunette tried to defend his failings, but smiled at the thought of his friend, which in a sober state Howard might have found very telling since it practically screamed that he was missing a dear friend.

“Ha,” he laughed, almost choking on the mouthful of honey colored liquid he had been drinking. Perhaps it was almost choking, but it suddenly occurred to Howard that Bucky really had known Steve for a very long time. “You’ve known him that long?” Possibly not the quickest leap to a solution Howard had ever made, but Bucky smiled somewhat sadly.

“I’d say I’ve known him since we were both in short pants,” Bucky laughed but it sounded hollow, “but that was last year for him so doesn’t make my point.” Howard didn’t laugh at the joke but Bucky carried on anyway, his voice softened as he did.

“He’s like my little brother.” It was a simple explanation but it’s one that made Howard oddly jealous.

“Little?” He threw the little dig out to the air because it seemed appropriate, and from what he had seen, that was what men did with each other when they were friends?

“He’s always going to be the skinny kid from Brooklyn to me,” Bucky shrugged, but the frown on his face said more than his words. “Which is just as well ‘cos I’m not sure I’d do too well if I was on his bad side.” His companion meant it as a joke, since Howard had yet to see anyone make it onto Steve’s bad side, but even in his intoxicated state he can tell that Bucky was not all that comfortable with his friend at the moment. Which Howard could not understand, since Steve was the kind of man who seemed to like everyone despite what they said about him... everyone apart from Howard? The revelation dawned like the morning sun, and Howard swallowed heavily.

“What, like me?” His tone changed and suddenly he felt oddly down. The conversation had only made him remember exactly what he had come there to forget.

“You kidding?” Bucky almost jumped out of his chair at Stark’s revelation, knocking the table as he moved and some of the liquid in his glass spilt on the wooden table between them. “He’s always ranting about how smart you are.” He meant it as a comfort but Howard failed to see it as such.

“Too smart. I get myself in trouble.” He paused for a long moment and wondered, for the first time, why he had not thought to tell Bucky about Steve in the first place. He had failed to realise they were so close, but that was stupid of him because Steve had jumped out of a plane into a warzone to save Bucky and just because he hadn’t seen them together all that much didn’t mean they weren’t the best of friends.

There was a long, but comfortable, silence and Howard didn’t know whether he wanted to continue the line of conversation that the discussion was on. He tried to buy himself some more time by taking a long drink out of his glass, and ultimately ended up staring at the bottom before he poured himself another. He ran his finger around the lip of the glass before downing that drink too. “Can I tell you something?” Bucky had been watching him intently, waiting, and nodded slowly, taking a drink as he did so.

“Looks like you’re going to tell me anyway.” He said flatly, and Howard couldn’t deny he was right.

“If I were to say, uh, well...” he stopped, trying to find the right words. “Steve. If I was to say that I was worried about him what you would say?” Howard stared at his companion for a long moment waiting for the calculated response.

“I’d say you might want to think about getting glasses,” initially Bucky laughed, but when he looked up at his new friend he had realised that it was no joke. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?” Howard poured them both another drink before he replied.

“Earlier,” he had said carefully, “I saw him... and he... he...” he took a desperate drink from his well-used glass. “He had this knife and...” unable to find the words to explain he gestured slashes across his thigh. “And I noticed a while back that there were some... scars... but he doesn’t...” he fumbled for the words. “I mean, he doesn’t exactly work the same way as you or me, so it was hard to know what was happening and...” it was by far the least coherent explanation the mechanic had ever given, and apparently Bucky thought so too because he interrupted him before he could finish it.

“Sorry, work the same?” Bucky seemed genuinely confused.

“I thought you’d know,” Howard was sure he was slurring by this point which might have been partly to blame for the blank look he received from Bucky. “Something to do with his metabolism,” he waved his hand, “I can’t pretend to be a Doctor. He heals faster than you or me – means you might not pick up on it.” He added at the end, noticing the pained expression forming across Bucky’s features. From that look he assumed that all of this was coming as news to the Sergeant, which was rather surprising.

“I should have,” Howard wondered when Bucky became the one that was blaming himself for Steve’s problems because he was fairly sure two minutes before it was him feeling like that. Nevertheless, he placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on his shoulder, which only managed to elicit a bemused look from Bucky so he retracted his hand. One day he would get used to the correct etiquette of a drinking buddy, but today was not that day.

“Back in Brooklyn, the first time we met, I pulled a couple of bigger guys off him...” Howard failed to see the importance but Bucky continued. “And that happened like, at least, once a month from then on in and he just... he just never learned. He’d just let them knock seven barrels o’ shit out of him– well not so much let , but they did anyway. And I’ve never heard him complain about it once, guess he kind of went looking for it.” He took a mouthful of his drink to steady his nerves. “I always thought it was something he’d grow out of... not grow into.” He admitted, sadly.

“The guy has issues,” Howard said by way of conciliation and also took another drink but rather felt it was an over-simplification.

“You wanna be the one to tell him that?” Bucky mirrored his actions and also took a drink, neither one of them liking the conversation. He sounded somewhat angry.

“Not really,” Howard confirmed.

“Can’t help him if he doesn’t want to help himself.” There was a resigned tone to Bucky’s voice and it only convinced Howard that maybe they have had too much to drink. There was clearly something going on between the two men that he was not aware of.

“Won’t hurt to try,” he shrugged, feeling suddenly down.

“You know I’ll always try when it comes to Steve,” that was enough to satisfy Howard but Bucky continued, unable to stop himself now that he had started. “But he’s so damn pig-headed – I doubt I’ll be of much help – I mean what do you say to him? I don’t know what I’m supposed to say?” He shrugged, but Howard thought he could see the weight of the world on the younger man’s shoulders. “He’s some big star now, got everything he wanted, ain’t got no reason to hate on himself. Hell, he even got the girl, and he’s still not happy.” Bucky’s tone was odd, because rather than sounding angry or harsh, the young sergeant sounded more tired and worn out, and Howard sensed that maybe he was also in the public house to drink away his problems concerning Steve.

“You ever notice that he gets this look in his eyes like he’s not quite himself,” Howard changed the subject, not intentionally, but his mind had been running around over Steve all of a sudden and from the way Bucky looked at him he appreciated that the change of subject probably made no sense. “Not that I’m paying him too much attention,” he excused himself, “but it’s hard not to notice. It’s something our lovely Agent Carter made me aware of... it’s hard not to see when you know it’s there.” Bucky shoot him a doubtful look. “Seriously, look out for it. You won’t be able to avoid seeing it.” He added, wishing that he had not been so loose-lipped.

“I’ll make a note,” he said rather doubtfully, a cloud of misery having formed around him. Howard felt suddenly awkward and they descended into silent drinking until Bucky finally broke it. “Now, how about you get us another bottle in?” Howard did as requested – he figured he owed the guy.


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky woke up the next day full of self-pity as his time in the bar last night caught up with him. His head was pounding and his stomach felt like there was a twister brewing in it. He was never drinking again. Ever. Until the next time. He groaned heavily into his pillow and tried to remember exactly what type of vehicle he had been hit by the previous night. His head hurt more than it had any right to and the idea of even trying to remember what happened made him want to crawl back under his sheet and not move for a week.

One thing was for certain. Howard stark was a bad influence. And Bucky hoped with every fibre of his being that the engineer felt at least half as bad as he did. Well, that was a lie; he hoped that Stark felt at least fifty times worse than he did, because the guy had been the one who had bought all the drinks.

The banging in his head was just getting louder and louder and more and more frequent. He growled. Goddamn military and their goddamn dawn chorus, the thought hurt his head and even though the banging of the door was getting more persistent he chose to disregarded it. If he just paid it no attention, he was sure it would go away.

That was a lie. In fact, he was sure that if he ignored it whoever was on the other side would just give up on him answering and barge right in – it wasn’t like the barracks had locks on the doors, hell he was lucky that he had a room to himself everyone else bar him and Steve had to share.

Sure enough, the persistent knocker (possibly Satan himself. If not, one of his agents, Bucky wasn’t quite sure which) quickly lost patience for politeness and entered the room without approval. The young brunette buried his head further in his pillow and groaned as the intruder laughed loudly. There was no point in pretending, the uninvited guest had obviously cottoned on to the fact that he was no longer asleep. Grudgingly, he moved his head out from under the pillow and stared bleary eyed at his guest.

Of course it would was Steve. Who else would it have been? Bucky blinked several times but made no attempt to get out of bed, he couldn’t give a damn if Steve was now his commanding officer they had known each other too long for him to be affected by rank at such an obscenely early hour. And obviously Steve looked perfect, his pants neatly pressed, his standard issue SSR shirt freshly laundered and his hair styled perfectly. Just how could a person, even a super soldier, manage to be so well presented at such an ungodly hour? It really didn’t strike Bucky as particularly fair.

“What time is it?” he had meant to ask, but instead it came out as a garbled mass of gibberish over his pillow. Fortunately for Bucky though, Steve had known him long enough to decipher the coded method of speech.

“It’s past nine.” Bucky groaned loudly and could imagine Steve rolling his eyes.

“Colonel Phillips has been punishing Stark for the last hour so consider yourself lucky.” The Captain said pointedly, and Bucky had to admit that he felt a little bad for the engineer because if he felt even half as bad as he did then a ‘chat’ with Phillips was going to be like walking over hot coals.

“Head full of wasps and fire,” He mumbled but Steve had pre-empted him and thrown a bottle of painkillers in his direction. Steve was a good friend. “Thanks,” he muttered in reply but couldn’t suppress the groan as he sat up. “Is Phillips really annoyed?” He ventured, not fancying his chances if he was forced to face him.

“To be honest I don’t think he realised you weren’t there...” Bucky couldn’t help but think that was a little harsh, but he knew Steve didn’t mean anything by it, “...but Howard looks about ready to throw himself in front of the entire HYDRA faction just to get some peace.” Bucky could certainly imagine that expression, in fact he might have been wearing it himself while thinking about Howard’s pain.

“That bad?” He grimaced.

“That bad,” Steve confirmed with a slight smirk. “But lucky for you, I’m a good friend and told him I sent you out to get some target practice, which means you’ve got about ten minutes to get out of bed and make yourself look decent.” Bucky groaned again. Never drinking again, he told himself again, but he still knew it was a lie.

“Easy for you to say,” He spat slightly bitterly, “you ain’t got the hangover from hell.” The pounding in his head had returned and his stomach was tumbling and turning like a circus girl.

“Getting no sympathy from me.”

He hadn’t really expected anything less from Steve but somehow it annoyed him. “You should know better.” Something inside of Bucky snapped, not because he was particularly annoyed, but he really wasn’t in a great mood, and the thought of facing Phillips only made him feel even sicker. And he really didn’t appreciate the way Steve was talking down to him as though he was a child. His Steve wouldn’t have done it. It was a spiteful thought but he couldn’t help it.

“Just because you don’t have to worry about hangovers doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.” He regretted it almost before the words had left his mouth and he felt even worse when Steve looked at him through long eyelashes with a pained expression in those familiar blue eyes.

“How do you...” Steve stopped himself, his voice full of hurt. How do you know, echoed on Steve’s lips and it made Bucky feel even worse because he honestly hadn’t meant to hurt Steve. And just because he was in a horrible mood didn’t mean that he wanted to become nothing more than a bully. And it really didn’t mean that he was not a still a sucker for Steve’s puppy dog eyes. It had always been hard to stay mad at Steve - not when he’d always been full of an earnest need to please and a self-deprecation that was stupidly endearing. Bucky sighed and dragged his hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not...” this time the words died on Bucky’s lips. Not what? Not Steve’s fault? “It’s not that big of a deal,” he tried to explain, but an odd look had spread across his friends face and for the first time since Steve rescued him from the base, he saw the familiar raw need spreading across the muscles in his newly-squared jaw. The calm stress echoed across his cheekbones and a tangible sadness swirled behind his blue eyes. Not for the first time, Bucky worried that his friend was going to find himself in an asylum before he turned thirty.

If, he thought with a sinking sensation that had nothing to do with his hangover, his best buddy lived that long.

“Just one more way I’m special.” He muttered, and Bucky saw the muscles in his neck tense in stress. The way he said ‘special’ made it sound like a disease and Bucky had winced subconsciously. “What else did Howard tell you?” There was a spite there which might not have been as imposing coming from Steve – the skinny kid from Brooklyn.

“It’s not Howard’s fault either,” he found himself defending the mechanical engineer. It really wasn’t Howard’s day.

“Ha.” Steve laughed, and it was a brutal, almost hollow laugh that was devoid of any mirth and he turned to leave. Bucky, realising what Steve was about to do, drew himself to his feet, somewhat clumsily and grabbed his shoulder – unthinking. But when Steve turned around it was plain to see that his old fighting spirit remained and for the briefest of moments Bucky actually thought the now-taller man was going to hit him. He didn’t, of course, and Bucky knew that Steve would never do anything to intentionally hurt him, but for that split second as he wheeled around to face him, Bucky could see the dangerous power looming below the surface. It was a cold wake up call. Steve could have laid him out flat with minimal effort when he was on his game, let alone when he was probably still half drunk and that was another unwelcome change to their relationship. They eyed each other for a long moment until Steve’s shoulders slumped down again.

“He worries about you... I worry about you.” Bucky sighed. “I care about you, Steve.” There was an awkward pause and Bucky couldn’t help but look at Steve. Really look at him, as though he was looking at him for the first time. And he guessed that he kind of was, because he had known Steve for almost half of his life, and he had been so familiar with his former-self that he has yet to take the time to look at the man he had become.

For the first time he began to see how difficult it must be, and it was at that moment when he remembered what Howard had said to him the previous night and his head seemed to hurt more, a feat he had not thought possible. He still remembers when Steve was ninety-pounds soaking wet in his thickest woollens but that seemed too long ago now, like a distant dream. All that remained of that man now was the paleness of his skin and the blue of his eyes. When Bucky looked at Steve now he saw corded muscles and a sculpted physique – a body that finally matched the strength of the metaphorical heart that had resided in Steve for as long as Bucky has known him. And it was somehow worse because he was so used to seeing Steve in his Captain America suit, which disguised the muscles with padding and in his full dress uniform that displayed the cut of his shoulders but doesn’t show any definition. But for Bucky, seeing him so stripped down was eye opening, it made the changes seem so obvious that Bucky could no longer ignore them. He could see the strength and the power in every limb, he could even see the ridges of his abdominal muscles through the thin cotton and it was distracting. Steve made a half-strangled noise of awkwardness and a furious blush rushed over his body, but Bucky could not stop himself from staring.

“What happened to you?” The words were barely a whisper, even in the confined room, but it was enough to send a visible shiver through Steve’s body and if Bucky wasn’t very wrong – and he rarely was as far as Steve was concerned – then the bigger man was on the verge of tears. It was almost as though all the awkwardness between them had been building up to this point.

“I joined the army,” he finally replied, stoically. But something was missing from the response and Bucky felt that he needed to know.

“Something happened before then,” Bucky sat back down on the bed, his tone probed.

“I guess I kind of always knew... you’re not very subtle you know,” he said by way of explanation, “... but you’re better than that.” He wasn’t even sure that he was making sense, but he needed to get his knowledge out in the open because otherwise it was going to drive him mad wondering how to broach the subject.

“You don’t understand.” Steve replied. Apparently Bucky had made some sense, which was always helpful to know.

“I don’t understand that you get some sort of perverse pleasure out of mutilating yourself?” Bucky had to give himself a small amount of praise for the fact that he had managed to phrase that quite so well. “Gee, I wonder why I don’t understand that,” Steve blinked at the revelation, as though hearing the words out loud had somehow offended him.

“That’s not what it’s like... it...” he looked at his hands and his shoulders squared. Bucky couldn’t help but think that it created an odd image because he managed to look more intimidating and yet more childlike with one action. “I can’t explain... sometimes... and it’s not all of the time... I just – I need to...” there was a long pause and Steve paced across the room, covering the distance in three large strides several times over, “... need to feel something.”

“I don’t...” Bucky didn’t get a chance to finish that particular line of thought.

“You wouldn’t, you can’t?” Steve was obviously frustrated by this point. “People look at me so differently now... like I’m not one of them, and they’re right, I’m just... I’m not quite the same as other people.” Steve failed at his explanation and once again looked like he was going to cry. Bucky was torn because he needed to know how Steve felt, but on the other hand he wanted to comfort his friend. “I mean, I look the same and I try to act the same but I’m just not. Everything is different, I feel different, and sometimes I just want to feel... I just want to feel something. And I know it’s not right, I know it’s weird and unhealthy and completely,” he scrambled for the correct explanation, and gestured vaguely for want of the right words. “It’s so fucking... I’m so fucking...” Steve almost growled. That was the honest-to-God only time Bucky had ever heard Steve swear and it hung in the air for a ridiculously long moment. “You can’t tell anyone Bucky, they’ll put me in an institution... I can’t got back to a home.” His voice cracked and there was the unmistakable sign of tears building in the corner of his eyes. “But I promise you, I won’t do it again.” Just like he knew he would have to, Steve told his friend what he thought was the perfect lie. But Bucky was no fool and he was not about to accept just an easy answer.

“You can’t just say that, Steve! You can’t just stand there and claim that it’s over, that you’re not going to do it again. It doesn’t work like that Steve.” Bucky was not angry, but he could not deny that he was frustrated.

“Why not?” Steve’s voice was almost desperate.

“Because you might be the most stubborn person that I have ever met and if you’re used to it... if it’s just there... you can’t just stop it. There’s...” Bucky could not find the words to articulate himself. It felt awkward because they had not had a conversation like this is such a long time – not since Steve’s mom died – and it felt eerily unfamiliar.

“There are people you could talk to.” He finally managed to croak out, and Steve looked at him for the longest minutes before he replied.

“They’ll throw me out,” he said flatly. “This,” he gestured up and down at himself, highlighting that body again, “this is all I have ever been good at. Captain America is the one thing that I have ever, ever been a success with. And I can’t have that taken away, I don’t think I could...” his voice cracked and he closed his eyes in an attempt to steady his nerves.

“Okay, fine, well... at least talk to me.” There was no point in denying that Steve was probably right. “Just, we’ve known each other since we were kids Steve and you didn’t even tell me? I had to hear it from some stranger.” It had never occurred to Steve that Bucky might have been threatened by his new friends.

“I never told Howard.” It wasn’t what Bucky wanted to hear, and it was obvious Steve that felt incredibly defensive about saying it. “And things are different...” once again he gestured to himself, gestured to the space between them. The young sergeant could see that his friend was desperate for him to understand, but he rather thought he had missed the point.

“You really are an idiot.” Bucky blurted out with no hint of finesse. “Things are only different because you’ve been so keen to make them different. You’re not my Captain, you’re not my boss. I told you back when I first took on this stupid job that I wasn’t following Captain America, I was following Steve. I couldn’t give a damn if you’re six feet tall, or sixteen feet, you’re always going to be my best friend.” Steve joined him on the bed and it creaked slightly under their combined weight. Bucky wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him into their traditional hug, just like he would have done back in Brooklyn, and despite the awkward angle Steve allowed him to do it -a comfortable familiarity. Steve’s large frame twisted awkwardly so that he could rest his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “But so help me God, if I ever catch you doing that to yourself I’m gunna hit you. Hard.” Steve looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, the threat was beyond lame and Bucky knew it.

“Howard suggested a distraction,” he admitted after a long moment and despite their conversation he still managed to sound pained when he uttered the engineer’s name. Nevertheless, he didn’t move from his uncomfortable embrace with his friend.

“Howard’s right,” Bucky said into his hair. “You should take up boxing, with those shoulders you could be a pro-fighter after the war.” It was a distracted comment because Bucky had missed his best friend and it was good to get away from the war and relive his normal youth.

“Bit of an unfair advantage.” Steve muttered with no sign of arrogance.

“Bit of an ego?” Bucky laughed slightly, and the sound was comforting to Steve. “Super Secret Super Soldier.” He added emphasising the secret as though it was a hint.

“And who exactly is going to be my sparring partner?” There was the dry wit that Bucky had been somewhat pinning for.

“Am I missing something here? Did you lose some IQ points when you became Mister-Marble-Statue?” Bucky played at being offended, there was a comfortable atmosphere between the two of them and he had missed that.

“You wouldn’t last five minutes in a ring with me,” Steve’s tone was playful, but Bucky had seen past the veil now and he knew exactly what was plaguing his friend.

“Again with the ego,” he joked, not even noticing the vaguely inappropriate way they were still sitting.

“I just... I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” Steven’s voice was soft and he twisted in the embrace to give his Sergeant a sheepish look.

“So hurt a bag instead?” he shrugged slightly. “I dunno, we’ll figure something out... we always did before?” Steve smiled slightly, remembering Bucky’s failed attempts to teach him to be a better fighter which seemed like a lifetime ago.

“I’m sorry.” Steve smiled.

“Yeah, you should be.” There was a long pause, and Steve finally drew himself back up into a seated position but didn’t move from their original position. Their shoulders were pressed together, and Bucky still could not get used to the sheer size of his friend. “You know I think Howard has a crush on you,” he said after a long moment. Steve blinked a few times with the revelation and it created the effect of a frightened deer, an image that Bucky couldn’t help but find amusing.

“But Peggy...” it’s a strained sound and the smaller man could not help but laugh. “And I guess that if I didn’t have her then maybe I would.... but I do.. and it’s...” he shifted awkwardly but still maintained their close position.

“Relax kid,” Bucky teased. “I don’t think he’s about to up and jump on you,” he took pleasure in making Steve look even more pained and laughed long and deep in his chest before they settled into their comfortable silence once more. “Just think you might make him wish he was a dame.” Steve laughed slightly and that was enough to make Bucky content. “Steve,” he murmured after a long pause.

“Yeah,” his voice was soft.

“My head still hurts,” he said matter-of-factly and for the first time in a long time Steve’s laugh reached his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

For Howard, meeting a friend in a bar was far from a rare occurrence back in the United States, but since the War he had found it increasingly difficult to bond with any of the men. In truth, he had failed to bond with anyone except for Peggy Carter, and even their alliance was somewhat on the lacking side as far as he was concerned – so finding Sergeant Barnes had been a refreshing break from his constantly active mind.

It had only been a few days since their previous meeting, and the engineer did not particularly feel like reliving the morning after that night, so they had established themselves a base in a quiet area of the bar, and set about a huddled conversation over a pint of beer. Usually, Howard would have preferred spirits, of course, but his stomach had turned at the sight of the spirit measures and so both himself and Bucky had opted for something a little less intoxicating.

Their chat had started off with the usual inane banter about who was going to get to see to the USO girls now that Steve had been sent to war and then they had moved on to more important things – like Howard’s new design for Bucky’s sniper rifle and just how great Peggy Carter’s figure was. Immediately following that they had broached the subject of Steven, who, Howard was only too aware, was exactly what this meeting had been intended to discuss.

“Dunno what Steve’d say if he heard what you were saying, Mister Stark.” The use of his formal name was said with the sarcastic undertone that Bucky was fond of and that had been the beginning of the conversations slow decline into all things Steve Rogers related. It was like his own personal therapy season, because regardless of the fact that he was sure he had not made a mistake in telling Bucky, Steve’s secret, he still felt guilty about it.

His guilt was probably the reason why he had woken up feeling so terrible the morning after their masterfully controlled drinking session. However, he was also certain that his encounter with the Colonel had meant that he had vaguely paid his dues to the world – even if Steve probably didn’t see it that way. Nevertheless, he was glad that Steve had at least spoken to Bucky about his problem, although that didn’t mean he could completely forget the awkwardness of the conversation he had shared with Steve that night. In fact, despite the fact that he had completely redesigned the younger man’s motorcycle and had spent copious amounts of time teaching him how to use all of the new features, they had not managed a single word of non-business related conversation. Peggy had noticed straight away and, although she hadn’t commented, he knew that she must have realised that he had finally managed to broach the subject with the Captain.

Bucky described the conversation he’d had with Steve – well he had described what he could remember since his head had been ‘cloudy’ that morning. If Howard was being honest, the news was hardly reassuring, but at least Steve appreciated that he had a problem, which people had told him was half the battle. Either way, at least Bucky was on side which was probably for the best since it meant that Steve would likely come around to his way of thinking.

**

Steve’s first reaction when Bucky had confronted him about his habit had been to get really mad at Howard. He honestly could not understand why the engineer couldn’t just leave things well alone: as far as he was concerned, there was no reason why Howard needed to get involved in his problems. The look on his friend’s face had been enough to make him consider snapping Howard’s spine in two, but the feeling had been very short lived because he knew that in his new body he might be able to do it and he would not allow himself to become a common thug – Erskine would roll over in his grave. Nevertheless, he had allowed himself to think about it and it made him realise that his current lifestyle was probably not that healthy.

But even if that realisation had not been enough for him to make a dawning revelation from, then the look that graced his sergeant’s face would have forced him out of the pitfalls of his own mind. Bucky had looked at up, his eyes tired and blood-shot, imploring him to stop, telling him not to blame Howard, and begging him to explain everything to him. He was powerless against his oldest friend’s displayed concern and the other man knew it.

Still, it made him feel somewhat better that Bucky had obviously missed their friendship as much as he had. And even if that didn’t mean that he was particularly happy that Bucky knew, and certainly not happy that Howard had told him, it made him appreciate that people probably did care for him, despite what he sometimes liked to believe.

Although, that also did not mean that he wanted to speak to the engineer any time soon. He had learned, over the years, that when he was annoyed with someone it was best to just ignore them – it might not have been the most mature method of dealing with the situation but it had certainly saved him from several friendship-ending arguments with Bucky. In hindsight, Steve realised he was really rather stubborn.

But he also realised that he needed to change one thing at a time, and at that moment the most important thing to change seemed to be his obsessive need to seek painful measures to feel more human. But it wasn’t an addiction, was it? Even as he was sat next to Bucky, their shoulders pressed together and their breathing in synchronisation, he could feel the raw burning need swirling in his too-tight stomach.

However, somehow being with Bucky made him feel like he could overcome the feeling and he didn’t quite know what to make of that, other than the fact that his presence was a soothing warmth to the body he still couldn’t quite believe belonged to him.

**

The first time Steve hit him, really hit him and didn’t hold back with it, Bucky realised that boxing really was not such a good idea. However, Steve spent the next week rushing around after him fetching everything he had wanted and that seemed to ease the blow somewhat – even if he had been playing on his injuries far more than he had any right to. He could not even deny that there was a part of him that enjoyed having the Army’s super soldier running around at his beck and call because it was more obvious to him than it had ever been that he was still skinny-Steve on the inside and not some physical embodiment of human perfection that everyone else saw.

Bucky was also (very) aware that if his friend was constantly with him then he would not be performing any other extra-curricular activities and what was more, he was more than fairly sure that Steve was following his line of thinking because he was more content than he had ever been to follow Bucky wherever he went. Well, most of the time. The sergeant was not so naive as to think that he had saved his Captain over night, and he had noticed more than once, since their emotional conversation, that Steve still occasionally slightly favoured his right leg.

Their friendship felt refreshed and there was a new naked honesty between the two men, at least on Steve’s part (because Bucky was still not ready to discuss all the things HYDRA had subjected him to, even if Steve had finally asked him. He wasn’t sure he ever would be.)

Occasionally, Bucky would touch Steve’s thigh in a knowing way, and the taller man would shift slightly, awkwardly appreciating that Bucky had not missed his failings. It was strange, because Bucky had missed their closeness more than he had thought possible before the war, but now it meant something different to the pair of them. They had both seen the horrors of war, had seen their friends die in horrible ways, and their memories of America and their misspent youth were all they had to remember normalcy. Plus, Bucky reasoned, it was always nice to have someone so unquestionably on your side, and someone who gave you a reason to fight for good – just like it had been in Brooklyn.

He had long since decided since that while many things would never be the same as they had been in Brooklyn, (he would never get over the way that Steve’s shoulders completely filled out his small bed), that Steve was pretty much exactly the same awkwardly geeky young man he had always been. He still liked to sit and doodle when he got a spare moment, and even though his drawing had grown slightly more edgy he still managed to see amusing things other people couldn’t. It was comforting to have that Steven back - the one that could smile sweetly and appear so helpless and yet have a twist of shy humour that people often missed.

It’s not that he didn’t understand that he couldn’t just snap his fingers and fix everything that he never really realised was wrong with Steve back in Brooklyn, but that doesn’t stop him from wishing that he could. It was not a secret that his friend still carried his favourite blade everywhere with him. He knew that Steven still cut into himself, but he was happy that Steve was no longer hiding it from him. And sometimes, sometimes Steve came to him when he felt down and he was able to help him (if only for the briefest of moments) and that made him feel like his efforts had not been in vain. In fact, every time that Steve agreed to go out with the Howling Commandos rather than sit at the base and go through attack plans he felt as though he was winning a bit more of that skinny kid back.

Even when they were in the midst of battle, it was just like back in the alleys in Brooklyn: Bucky had Steve’s back and he was the secure in the knowledge that reverse was true as well. More than once Bucky had delivered the kill shot and saved his friend’s neck but he was certain in the knowledge that Steve had saved his skin twenty times over.

“Making good on my debts from Brooklyn,” Steve had said with a shy smile the first time he’d saved Bucky in the heat of battle.

It didn’t matter that there were never any debts between them, or that they were a million miles from Brooklyn, that shy smile reminded Bucky of home more than anything else ever could.


	11. Chapter 11

Steve wasn’t sure why he still had to do it – still felt the need twisting in his gut when he let things get on top of him – but as the weeks dragged on he found that he as hard as he tried he couldn’t completely break the cycle. He couldn’t just retire his blade and completely conquer the need that he had not realised controlled him so strongly. Up until that point in his life, he had never considered himself to have an addictive personality, but his failure to keep his promise to Bucky had taught him otherwise.

He completely understood that the serum had made him a stronger man physically, but he could not help but feel that maybe it made him weaker emotionally – as though it made him lose a certain amount of self-control. Before the serum, the cutting had been completely about release, about proving that he had a strength that went beyond the physical and that it didn’t matter that his body was sickly because his mind had a strength that would see him past the pain. It was about maintaining his level of self-control – or at least that is what he had told himself, repeatedly. After the serum, it had become almost cathartic – a punishment for his failings on the battlefield, in his love life, to his friends – and a painful release to remind him that he was still human, to remind him that he was the kid from Brooklyn. The same kid who Erskine had put some much faith into originally and above all a good man.

But surely, if he was trying so hard to find a connection to humanity, then it should have been made by talking to Bucky (when he had been found) or by trying to get further involved in whatever was going on between him and Peggy (she deserved better than him). Hell, even by trying to connect with Howard and whatever misplaced ideals the engineer had for him.

He could see that he was treading a tightrope, the thin line between becoming a legend and ending up in a sanatorium but he just could not stop himself. He knew that much even before Bucky had taken it upon himself to become his personal saviour (once again). But knowing that he had a problem was only half the battle, and every time he slipped up he gained another reason to punish himself.

It was an almost impossible cycle.

Howard had tried to help him and he had pushed him away. The more he thought about it, the more he appreciated what the engineer had done, but that was a feeling that came after a long time of quiet introspection. In fact, Howard had tried to avoid him for over a month following their odd encounter in his dorm and even though Steve knew that it was cruel, he had done nothing to suggest that he wanted to talk to him again for the longest time.

There was an idle wonder in his mind that maybe if he cut deep enough, he’d manage to bleed all of the stubbornness out of himself. This usually came coupled with a feeling that he’d probably bleed out before he managed to drain himself of that particular character flaw.

The truth was, he had been irrationally annoyed at the genius for telling Bucky and making everything even more difficult between him and Bucky. But actually, as time went on, he had come to see that things were probably better between them now than they had been before Howard had divulged his secret. Bucky understood his motives and that was a weight off his shoulders. Plus, he reasoned, since he had not been forced to endure any awkward conversations with Colonel Phillips or any other high ranking official, Howard much have kept his secret pretty close to home.

So Steve had somewhat forgiven Howard, even if he hadn’t told him yet.

Or at least he had forgiven Howard, right up until the moment that Bucky had let slip that the inventor had also told Peggy. The exact reason for the slip was unknown to Steve but all he heard was the confession and he remembered the terrified look on Howard’s face as he saw the fury cross his. Steve had always hated bullies, but at that moment he really could have laid into Howard (there was a reoccurring theme here). At the last moment he had found his self control and punched a wall so hard that the paintwork chipped and he could feel the bruises forming across his knuckles.

“I thought you knew that,” Bucky tried cautiously and Howard nodded enthusiastically, still keeping his distance.

“Why the hell did you think I was avoiding you? Self-preservation, my friend,” there was a slight quiver in the end of his usually confident voice and Steve could not contain his anger anymore. Losing control for the briefest of moments, he covered the distance between them faster than he knew what he was doing. As usual, though, Bucky was there to save his ass and got his body between his and the engineers, no doubt feeling the muscles shifting and pinching under his clothes. “I don’t wanna end up looking like that wall.” He eyed the wall again, and Bucky let him go. Howard’s eyes widened as he realised that Steve had no reason not to hit him. The young sergeant shot him a look that practically screamed What?! and he took a step back, shrugged slightly and motioned for Steve to continue.

“Least if he’s hitting you he ain’t hurting himself.” The words stop Steve in his tracks. Bucky Barnes - the master of manipulating Steve Rogers. He never had been - never would be - a violent man, no matter how much he sometimes took pleasure in a fight, and he’d certainly never been the one to start a fight with someone weaker than himself. The tension slid out of him and he felt his arms slacken at his side, but Howard didn’t relax.

There was an atmosphere in the room that was as thick as butter and neither Howard nor Bucky dared to say anything until he broke the silence.

“I can’t believe you told her.” He shook his head because he really could not believe that Howard would be so stupid.

“In my defence,” Howard began his reply, but only after an agreeing nod from Bucky, “I kind of thought she’d probably know...” he wrung his hands out, “I mean you... and her... and she...,” he made several crude hand gestures and actually coughed out loud.

Steve didn’t know where to go with that because he didn’t really have any experience as far as fondue was concerned. He didn’t like the idea of explaining that to Howard though because it still made him feel like even more of an oddball. He’d never really thought of Peggy like that – well, he had, he was only a man, and she was a hell of a dame... more than a dame, she was a lady- but he never really felt that he had the right to act on it, though he had an inkling that Peggy would have returned his feelings, had he only felt it right to ask.

At the heart of the matter, Steve was still a gentleman at heart, and it felt wrong to despoil Peggy’s virtue when there was the chance that he might not get to make an honest woman of her in Brooklyn. He never let his thoughts stray too far from the fact that he might never make it back to Brooklyn at all.

“Steve’s not sure he’s ready for that...,” Bucky’s answer made him want the ground to swallow him up, “... super serum and all that,” he added and saved Steve’s dignity with one comment. And even if Steve thought Bucky’s argument is pretty invalid since about the only thing that he was not shocked by in his new ripped body was the way his dick functioned, he was still really grateful to his friend for at least lightening the tension.

And when Howard looked at him he just shrugged in mild agreement.

“Well, I imagine everything’s...” the words tailed off as Howard’s eyes skipped over to the crumbling plaster on the wall once more, “... point taken.” He conceded the point and Steve remembered feeling better than he had been for a long time.

**

Howard had come to enjoy the simple pleasure he got from watching Bucky and Steve interact. It had become something that he had spent a lot of hours doing and he didn’t really know how it happened (but he still couldn’t help but feeling slightly giddy that they sometimes let him in on their little jokes).

He liked to tell himself that it was out of concern for Steve’s progress, but he knew that he was lying to himself. Ever since the night he had told Bucky Steve’s secret he had been watching them and he had come to the conclusion that he was stupid not to realise how close the two men were before Bucky had blatantly informed him. Steven had run into hell for Bucky, but it had never occurred to him that the two men were as close as any brothers he had ever met.

The whole thing really confirmed to him that his grasp on human emotion was nowhere near the realm of his grasp on mechanics. For all he was the best mechanical engineer in the country, the Super S

Despite the fact that the two men argued with each other in a way he would never be able to understand, he could see that their bond was almost stupidly tight. He often wondered why he had been so unwilling to see it before, when it was so clear. Hell, even Colonel Phillips had noticed how close they were and he barely saw them outside of briefings. It was probably the fact that they could be sat across the room from each other in such meetings and still managed to make each other smile – their communication was almost telepathic. It only took one glance from green eye to blue and there was a secret smile between them.

Howard had never had that. With anyone.

Not that it mattered all that much, Howard had power and money and had been blessed with good looks and enough charm to make sure that he would never have to spend a night alone. He also had the freedom of being excused from fighting and enlisting and technically he could go home when he wanted – not like he would – which was a lot more than most of the other army grunts had going for them.

Despite his apparent dislike of all things heroic (or at least things that endangered his life), he still felt a strong sense of duty and as such he found a strange comfort in the knowledge that he had – at least – done some good while he was in Europe. Steve Rogers was a testament to that.

He had even given the younger man some books on basic mechanics after they had finally started speaking again. He didn’t know why he did it but he felt he owed it to the younger man. Steve had thanked him profusely for his help, and had promised to read the books but the look on Bucky’s face told him they would probably end up sat gathering dust. Not that Steve was at all stupid, but he had to keep space in his head for strategies, plans and fighting methods and so the internal workings of the combustion engine probably wouldn’t be all that much good to him.

Nevertheless, Steve had taken to speaking to him a good deal more since then. Privately, Howard thought Steve had forgiven him after that since he recognised a fellow slightly socially inept man when he saw one. Sure, Howard was better at putting on a show for the general public than the young blond but he still had a lot to learn about friendship.

Steve was probably the only other person on the base who appreciated that fact. And it was nice to see that the Captain was finally beginning to realise what everyone else had known for a long time – just how special he was.

**

Peggy had known the instant that Steve had learned of her prior knowledge of his secret. He had come to her door, his uniform pristinely presented apart from his tie which hung loosely around his neck and his top button that had been unfastened. He stood in her doorway looking at her for a long moment and managed to drag his hand through his hair a total of three times before he had begged for entrance. She stepped aside compliantly, and closed the door behind him – all sense of propriety slipping from her mind.

This conversation was not going to be about sex. This was about him and she was smart enough to realise that. If other people wanted to think differently, then, that would be their choice, it would not have been the worst thing that had been said about her. She was used to people seeing the worst in her – viewing her as a woman who slept with men to get what she wanted – why should Steve Rogers be any different? In truth, she let the rumours persist because it intimidated most men that a woman could be so overtly sexual, but she liked Steve because he wasn’t actually all that interested in sex. Or at least ways, he couldn’t articulate himself enough around her to broach the subject. It was kind of novel to have someone be so innocent around her.

By the time she had locked the door and turned around, he was sat on the edge of her bed: hands on his thighs, his shoulders hunched and his eyes downcast. For such a large man, she was surprised at how small he had managed to make himself appear. She took a couple of steps towards him before she stopped herself. For the first time she was lost for words with him. She was used to being the more articulate of the two of them, so the feeling was as alien as the situation.

“I’m sorry you didn’t hear it from me,” he said carefully, wringing out his hands with nervous apprehension. “I mean, I, uh... I mean... I didn’t want to not tell you...”

She smiled slowly and covered the distance between them in a fraction of a section so that she could capture his trembling hands

“Calm down,” she instructed with all of the authority she could muster in her small cell-like room.

“No but I, just... I guess I’m not what you expected,” he sighed heavily and she automatically dropped to the ground before him so that she was crouching between his legs, clutching his hands. And even though she tried to shush him, he was strangely talkative. “I just, I wish I wasn’t so...”

Peggy cut him off by leaning up and kissing his forehead.

“Adorable,” she kissed his left cheek, “funny,” she kissed his right cheek and placed her hands on both sides of his face, “and rather endearingly clueless?” She smiled warmly and without a beat she pressed her lips against his in the gentlest of kisses.

“Oh...” he blushed furiously and shifted awkwardly on the bed, bringing his knees together and knocking her off balance. Fortunately his reflexes were sharp and his arms curled around her, preventing her from falling too awkwardly. “Oh God, I’m really sorry...” he flailed and then pulled her upwards towards his chest and before realising his action was drawing her closer towards his crotch and almost dropping her again.

It seemed to take him an age to realise that she was laughing at him and when he did he looked at her with a confused expression. She placed her hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eye.

“Nobody’s perfect, Steve.” She said, before kissing him once again – for good luck obviously.


	12. Chapter 12

Things were not perfect but Bucky was not naive enough to think that they would ever be, however, as the months had drawn on Steve had seemed increasingly happy within himself – which could only be considered a positive as far as Bucky was concerned. It was good to see Steve coming into his own as both a man and a leader; he was proud to say that he had been there for the whole journey and that he knew him best of all. And knowing what went on underneath the cool Captain America exterior was an important part of that feeling, and it was a feeling he shared with only two other people – Howard and Peggy – and even though they knew his secret they were nowhere near as good as reading Steve as he was.

They were just about as close as two people could be. Well as close as two people could be without being sexually intimate and Bucky, for all the teasing they received off some of the other officers, was not at all interested in going there. They were brothers, even if they didn’t share the same blood, and if people couldn’t understand that then it wasn’t their problem. So what if they sometimes fell asleep curled up together in one of their small cots, it didn’t mean a damn thing. Steve had Peggy (even if neither of them seemed to realise it) and Bucky had every other woman within a five mile radius of the camp (theoretically, at least.).

Bucky honestly couldn’t see why people had to make a big deal out of things they couldn’t understand. In fact, he and Howard had gotten into a lengthy discussion over that exact subject one night during a brief stay in a rundown town in France. He had been ranting, and Howard had shown him some wisdom.

“I just don’t understand why everything has to be about sex!” He had drunkenly slurred, to which the engineer had raised cynical eyebrow. “Well, I do, but not between me and Steve,” he had emphasised his friend’s name in a half disgusted way,  
“he’s like my brother I just... even if I was... then Steve...” he had stuttered before finding the correct words, “no way.”

“I don’t know, I think if I was going to swing that way then Steve would be the kind of man I’d want.” Howard half-shrugged and took a drink from his glass.

“That’s just... No.” Bucky had replied sharply.

“I didn’t say I wanted him, I just said if I was gunna lust after a man I might as well lust after the perfect specimen of masculinity.” His tone had been nonchalant but Bucky wondered whether there was something else behind those words, of course, it was entirely possible that Howard had just been bitten by the endearing personality of Steve Rogers.

“I’m not drunk enough for this conversation.” Bucky had slurred again.

“Jesus, not like I’m saying I’m an invert,” he said a little too loudly and attracted some attention from the rest of the patrons. “But,” he said pointedly as he lowered his voice, “as I was saying, people are jealous of what they can’t have and what they don’t understand. I doubt anyone will ever be as close to Steve as you are and I’m sure a lot of men don’t understand what it’s like to have a bond like that.” Bucky suspected, even in his half-drunk state that a lot of men implied I in that comment, but he didn’t feel the need to confirm it.

“Montgomery and Dugan don’t get no shit,” he huffed.

“Yeah but one of them isn’t a super soldier? Kind of easier to explain that relationship... well that and everyone knows they tend to get a bit handsy with each other.” Howard pulled a slightly pained face, probably trying to dispel the mental picture he had conjured for himself.

“Now that conversation I am definitely not drunk enough for.” Bucky wrinkled his nose, but smiled despite himself.

“Yeah, but it got you smiling again didn’t it.” Howard laughed easily.

“How does that even work...” Bucky was distracted by his own thoughts, and while it wasn’t a pleasant image he wondered exactly what went on there.

“You want me to draw you a picture?” Howard replied quickly and Bucky shook his head before he had even finished his sentence. People could believe whatever they wanted about him and Steve because he knew the truth. He knew that they would fight for each other and that they would die for each other but that was as far as it went. And he was comfortable enough in that knowledge to deal with all of the teasing.

Afterwards, Bucky had to question whether Howard had said anything to any of the other men, because after that the taunts didn’t seem quite so bad. Although it was equally likely that he had started to see the funny side, and he especially found it funny to think about how Montgomery and Dugan had managed to stay out of the limelight.

He guessed it was better for the team to tease him and Steve for their innocent brotherly affection than to hound the two men everyone knew were involved. Howard was right, it was easier to tease the super soldier about something so petty, because it wasn’t like they could bring him down a peg or two by critiquing his fighting technique or physical physique.

Steve was fast becoming one of the best fighters Bucky had ever seen, and not just in terms of strength but also technique. His muscles seemed to remember the correct way of fighting and where his movements had been effective but raw before they were now crafted with a precision that it was hard not to be impressed by – even if Bucky hadn’t seen him as the skinny kid getting beaten up twice a week. But he wasn’t just improving at the technical aspect of fighting he was also improving with tactical coordination and as his confidence in himself grew, so did the confidence of the men who fought with him.

When Steve had suggested the idea of gliding down to the train from the cliff-face it had seemed like a stupidly extravagant idea and when he had asked for a volunteer Bucky had been the first one to offer his services. He would have followed Steve anywhere in the world without question.

This time was no different to the rest – except for when it was.

The last thing that Bucky saw before he fell out of the train was his Captain’s hand inches away from him. The last thing he saw before he crashed into the snow was the pained expression on Steve’s face. The only thing Bucky thought as he lost consciousness was that he hoped Steve didn’t blame himself.

**

The news wasn’t called in, no one reported it, but the pain was written on each of the men’s faces as they climbed onto the plane. Howard was only there because they were using his tracking device to locate the unit, but when he realised what had happened he had never been so glad that he was sent on a mission. He opened the door with a delighted grin, and almost laughed as Zola was forced into his plane but his happiness was fleeting as the men joined him inside the fuselage and there was a complete change in the atmosphere.

He knew what was wrong before anyone had managed to utter a word. Though he had not conducted a head count he knew that if he did that someone would be missing. The faces of the men all told the same story and almost seemed to merge into one. Then there was Steve’s face, almost breathtaking in its inconsolable beauty. Bright blue eyes were lined with red and leaking tears.

Howard couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the tears from forming in the corners of his eyes, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t do anything. The loss was so devastating that it almost took his breath away. It was so odd to think that Bucky Barnes would no longer be available for drunken nights of debauchery in the middle of the hell of war. He sat next to Steve in silence.

No one said anything. Not even when they landed back in London.

They went their separate ways as soon as they could, everyone branching off (apart from Montgomery and Dugan who sought comfort in each other) to try and find some way of coping. Steve wondered off, but Howard didn’t have the words to say to him – he didn’t have the words to say what he really means to anyone. He just needed to do something. He tried drinking but the taste of liquor reminded him of long nights spent talking to Bucky and he got irrationally angry and threw the glass against the wall in disgust. He tried sleeping, sprawled out in the small cot in his workshop but every time he closed his eyes he saw Bucky, and sleep evaded him. He tried tinkering with one of the weapons they had ceased from Hydra, but his hands shook too much for him to do anything all that effective with it.

There didn’t seem to be anything that he was capable of doing. And if he felt that bad he couldn’t imagine what Steve must have been feeling like.

The hours pass so slowly that it might as well be days and he just couldn’t do anything. It took all the strength left in his body to walk into the debriefing the next morning. The one where they would be discussing what happened on that train. The mere thought of it brought a lump to his throat.

“He deserves a proper burial.” Steve’s voice was calm but destroyed.

“We haven’t recovered his body.” There was something in the Colonel’s voice that Howard didn’t like and he could feel his stomach sinking because it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was trying to say.

“Well, keep looking.” Steve’s words echoed Howard’s thoughts and he felt like he should stand up and salute.

“We have done three flyovers and there’s no sign of a body, it could take months.” The colonel was not yet annoyed, but Howard could tell it would not be all that long before he would be. Unfeeling bastard, he didn’t care that this was war, all he cared about was respecting his friend’s memory

“Are you trying to tell me he’s not worth it?” Steve’s voice was suddenly angry

“I’m saying that we’re in the middle of a war, Captain Rogers, and we don’t have the resources to lead the kind of expedition it would require to search the potential landing field.” The Colonel snapped back.

“That’s not good enough.” Steve growled and his fist collided with the desk so hard that something snapped, but Howard didn’t care because he was just glad someone had said what he had been thinking. Something inside of the man had changed, and Howard could feel the grief coming off him in waves as he hoisted himself to his feet, joined by Phillips. He wondered why the Colonel seemed so intent on antagonising him.

“Captain Rogers,” the colonel’s voice was clipped and they squared off against each other in deathly silence for a moment before Peggy interrupted them.

“Steve,” she placed a hand on his shoulder and looked every bit as broken as Howard felt. She blinked several times, no doubt trying to hide her own grief and the blond relaxed slightly, sliding a comforting arm around her. The Colonel watched as she fitted herself against the Captain and he nods somewhat inexplicably.

“We’ll do everything we can.” He said, before leaving the three of them alone in their misery.

Howard had always been jealous of the way people gravitate to Steve, but he couldn’t help but do it himself in his moment of need. He stood up wordlessly to join the couple, and placed a gentle arm on the larger man’s shoulder. For his part, Steve shot him an understanding nod but did not break the silence.

None of them could maintain the illusion that the stinging in their eyes is anything other than a rush of emotion.

**

He saw it too late: that was the only explanation. And Bucky was all too quick to throw himself into the line of fire, but what seemed like a noble act was actually really stupid because Steve was a lot stronger than he looked (which was pretty hard anyway) and he even he couldn’t keep his feet on the ground when the blue weapon was aimed directly at his shield, so Bucky stood no chance. The action seemed to move in slow motion, Bucky pulled the shield up to cover himself and face off against the Hydra agent.

There was a flash of brilliant blue that seemed to linger for just a moment too long and he had watched in painfully slow motion as Bucky was flung across the train and the shield bounced to a stop near him. He worked as fast as he could, retrieving shield and taking out the armed assailant, but he was still too late.

The air was biting against his skin as he climbed out of the train towards his friend. Just a few inches further and he would have saved him. A few inches and Bucky would have lived. Instead, he is forced to watch as his friend is dragged down to the cavernous chasm below.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t do anything.

It was all over.

Everything after that was a blur. He couldn’t remember how they stopped the train, he didn’t know how they got to the rendezvous point and he could not recall a single moment of the journey home. But somehow he was back in London, England and he had lost his sergeant - his best friend – his brother.

The silence was almost deafening. No one would talk; everyone was too caught up in the memory of their fallen friend to form the words and he had no one left.

When they separated, he didn’t have anywhere to go so he just wondered off down the war torn streets. Their derelict state echoed the pieces of his broken psyche.  
Eventually, he found himself at the same bar where he had talked the Howling Commandos into following him; the desolate husk of the bar felt more like a mirror than he’d ever admit. He had asked Bucky to follow him across the room from where he had sat himself with a bottle of whiskey. And Bucky had accepted, and now he was dead. If he had just been a little bit quicker, a little bit stronger, a little bit better, then Bucky would be with him drinking scotch and laughing over something inane that only they understood.

Every time he closed his eyes he could see Bucky falling away from him. He had been so close to being able to save him and yet at the same time so far away. Yet another way in which he had failed. He would have given anything to be the one who had fallen off that train, just so that he didn’t have to feel the way he did -which was the most selfish thing he had thought in years.

But at that moment he didn’t care.

Three quarters of a bottle of scotch later and he still felt no effect. It was the first time he had ever put that particular effect of the serum to the test, and he was pretty pissed to find out that it had no effect. The one time he had wanted to get off his head drunk was the first time he found out that he couldn’t. Even Peggy couldn’t help him, she sat with him for the longest time and watched as he drank the rest of the bottle of alcohol but her presence was of little comfort to him and she knew it.


	13. Chapter 13

Since the night that Bucky had... gone. He had been searching for a way to throw himself back into his work, to try and feel something other than the numbing void. He found himself yearning for pain – real pain – to knock him from his indifference to life. But he had promised Bucky and that promise seemed to hold a lot more weight since his friend had passed. However, the gratification he received from boxing only relieved him minimally and he could not make much sense of the books Howard had given him.

Now that Bucky had gone he really didn’t feel like he belonged anywhere. The older man had always been a rock through his hard times, and now he would never again have that comfortable interaction with another person. Howard and Peggy had both tried to talk to him – well Howard had tried to talk and Peggy had just clung to his side as if her presence could snap him from his own thoughts. But the rest of the world seemed to be covered in a never breaking haze of misery.

In fact, in the days since the train, the only thing that he had heard clearly was the location of Hydra’s final base – the one hidden in the mountains – and it quickly became the one thing that he could focus on. The hours seemed to merge into one another and though he went through the motions of a real existence and tried to eat and had even lay in bed every night, but as much as he followed what was expected of him, he was pretty certain that he had not slept since Bucky died.

Phillips had seen the Hydra base as a suicide mission, so had most of his men, but it felt like the answer to his problems.

Bucky had gone out fighting and now so would he.

The anticipation of the final fight had left him feeling weaker than he had done since the serum. He was like a junkie on a high and a low all at the same time. His hands trembled the whole way to his drop zone – right up until the moment he got on his bike – when a peaceful calm had steadied over him and left him with a focus so clear that it was almost blinding.

Driving into a barrage of Hydra’s men on his own had not broken his concentration and blowing up a tank had not fazed him. All of the men seemed to allow themselves to be swatted away like flies when he finally sent his precious bike careening into the entrance way, and his heart rate didn’t even increase. He was a one-man weapon, for the first time he really felt like using all of his strength to nail the Nazi bastards, and everything was going according to his plan. He allowed them to catch him, and they took him to Schmidt, just as he knew they would. He kept his face noncommittal and he allowed the weaker men to push him around.

There was a brief moment of clarity, standing before the disfigured General, and he smiled despite the apparent danger of his situation. It really didn’t matter anymore; he didn’t need to hide it because he had Red Scull right where he wanted him.

“Arrogance may not be a uniquely American trait, but I must say, you do it better than anyone. But there are limit to what even you can do, or did Erskine tell you otherwise?” The man was like the walking definition of irony. Schmidt had been too content to revel in his arrogance to realise that his own would be his downfall.

“He told me you were insane.” There had not seemed a point in engaging him in anything other than a truthful expression of his hatred.

“Ah, he resented my genius and tried to deny me what was rightfully mine, but he gave you everything. So, what made you so special?” He saw his chance to really feel something, and he said the one thing he would annoy Schmidt more than anything else.

He laughed, a brief moment of amusement in his otherwise empty life.

“Nothing, I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.” He smiled as he clarified his normalcy, knowing that Schmidt believed himself like a God. The blows to his face were like a beautiful realisation of his own weakness and the punch to the gut was hard enough to make him drop to the floor. Nevertheless, he looked up at his assailant an antagonistic smirk plastered on his face. “I could do this all day.”

“Of course you can, of course, but unfortunately I’m on a tight schedule.” Schmidt pulled out a gun, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the hooks hit the side of the mountain and knew his men were on their way.

“So am I.” He muttered back, pulling one of the guards in front of himself as a make-shift shield. All that mattered to him was destroying Schmidt, not the preservation of life. The Red Skull wouldn’t think twice about killing his squad.

This was war.

The chase contorted into a blur, nothing else mattered to him but getting the man responsible for his Sergeant’s death, and if that meant running through the middle of an open warzone then that was the only viable option as far as he was concerned. All around him men were fighting to their deaths for what he believed in, but what he believed in was already gone.

Schmidt’s plane was moving at an impressive rate, even in the confinements of the hanger, and even if it had been moving at a regular pace he doubted whether he would be able to catch it. His legs burned with the exertion of the speed he had tried to match.

It was odd that Colonel Phillips came to his rescue since the man had never been his biggest fan. But since he was accompanied by Peggy, he guessed that it shouldn’t have been. She was the closest person to him – but no one could ever replace Bucky. Not even her.

He barely felt the gentle kiss she placed on his lips, such was his focus on Schmidt and his revenge for Bucky’s soul, but he couldn’t help feel both boosted and saddened by it. It was a kiss goodbye, even with his lack of experience he could appreciate that much.  
Killing the Red Skull had been the overall objective since he had marched back into base with 400 saved souls, but he had never been completely convinced he could succeed. So when he watched the demon-like creature fading away into the purple colored sky he felt oddly discontent, the thrill he might have expected was not there. Killing Schmidt did not clear the persistent haze like he thought it would, it didn’t make the pain of losing his best friend any easier, and it didn’t make him feel like he belonged. He still felt empty.

But he didn’t really get time to process what had happened; the plane was already beginning to descend and he needed to safely solve the problem of the experimental bombs and although he had received a lot of training he hadn’t had a vast amount of experience with flying, (Howard was normally around for that) the controls don’t appear too difficult. And he knew that the plane is still in pretty decent condition, despite his attempt at sabotage, so landing the plane safely is a viable option.

Below him, the water was shimmering with an almost beautiful clarity that had been missing in his life. In that moment he finally found the peace he had been struggling so hard to find. There was another option, and though he knew that it was probably self-involved of him, he couldn’t help but appreciate the butterflies which twisted excitedly in his stomach.

When he made the call back to base, he didn’t expect to hear Peggy’s voice on the other end of the phone, it was a painful blow to his already damaged psyche: he had already decided what needed to be done, and he didn’t want her to change his mind (and she was one of only two people that might have held that power). He didn’t want to live in a world where people like Bucky died, and he didn’t want to ruin a dame – a woman – as amazing as Peggy with his plethora of issues. As much as he loved Peggy, he knew that he would never be able to completely satisfy her. She had this perfect vision of a man in her head, a perfect vision of him - but that vision had never been who he really was.

And the only way he could live up to the image of excellence that she had created in her mind, was to die a hero.

Even ignoring everything else, he couldn’t go back to Brooklyn with the heavy knowledge of everything he’d seen. He couldn’t go back home without Bucky.

“Steve, is that you? Are you alright?” Her voiced wavered, but he would not let his brain process it.

“Peggy? Schmidt’s dead.” Perhaps that would bring her the satisfaction that it had failed to bring him.

“What about the plane?” He should have known that she would ask him that, but he had not thought about how he was going to explain it.

“That’s a little tougher to explain,” it wasn’t a lie, because he couldn’t lie to her.

“Give me your co-ordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site.” There was desperation in her voice that was almost haunting, and he wondered whether she knew what he was thinking.

“There’s not gunna be a safe landing, but I can try and force it down.” He couldn’t let her know how much he was breaking, but the sharp sob she couldn’t conceal was enough to make him hate himself all over again.

“I’ll get Howard on the line, he’ll know what to do.” Howard was the only other person who might have been able to talk him out of his foolhardy plan. He hadn’t thought about Howard until she mentioned him, but he hoped they could find peace together.

“There’s not enough time.” Not a lie, per se, more an exaggeration, “this thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading straight for New York,” there was a sadness in his voice that he was surprised by. “I gotta put her in the water.”

“Please don’t do this, we have time, we can work it out.” He was sure that she knew that he could land the plane if he really wanted to, but then again she had always shown such unwarranted faith in him so he could have been imaging things.

“Right now, I’m in the middle of nowhere, if I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die.” He tried to be as stoic as all of history’s most celebrated heroes, but his voice betrayed his emotions. “Peggy, this is my choice.” He tried to explain, but he didn’t have the words to admit what he was doing. “Peggy?” He called her name as he turned the nose of the plane towards the waiting waters.

“I’m here.” She said after a brief moment, and he could almost hear the tears falling down her pretty cheeks.

“Gonna need a rain check on that dance.” If he could just make her laugh one last time then he wouldn’t feel like a failure, but the words had the opposite effect.

“Alright, a week next Saturday, at the Stork Club.” He felt his heart lurch slightly.

“You got it.” He didn’t know why the empty promises made him feel so ill but they did and he could feel his resolve slipping away.

“Eight o’clock on the dot, don’t you dare be late.” She paused briefly, “Understood.”  
“You know I still don’t know how to dance.” He tried, once again, to make her laugh. It was a sly joke, and exactly what Bucky would have said in the same situation, it should have made him feel better except it really didn’t. The water was looming closer and he felt his pulse quicken.

“I’ll show you how, just be there.”

“We’ll have the band play something slow, I’d hate to step on your fe...” the radio crackled and he was left alone, just him and the impending explosion of water.

At that moment, right when it was almost too late to do something he finally realised that he didn’t want to die. Not there, not now. He didn’t want to die in freezing water, he wanted to go and have his promised dance with Peggy. He wanted to become the man she saw in him. He remembered hearing somewhere that when faced with your own mortality you finally find purpose in life. It was ironic that when he was finally so close to extinguishing his own life that he realised exactly how much he wanted to live.  
In a moment of blind panic, he pulled the joystick back in an attempt to avert his collision course with the biting cold of the water. But as usual Steve Rogers had failed, and though the plane banked up sharply from the water it was not enough to take it above the ice shelf. It crashed into the ice with enough force to throw him from his seat and knock him out.

When he woke up it was only to his own mortality. The plane had crashed through the shelf and ice cold water had surged into the cockpit. He tried to move but his foot was trapped under one of the collapsed pillars, and as much as he struggled he couldn’t free himself. The cold was crippling and he could literally feel his strength giving out on him. But if he had thought freezing to death would be a horrible death, it is nothing compared to the searing pain in his chest as he lungs screamed out for oxygen only to be filled with water.

All he could think as the life was excruciatingly ripped from his body was that he had bought it on himself, and that he had finally found a pain which he couldn’t enjoy.

**

By the time Howard got to the communication room it had been too late, and Peggy could not bring herself to move from her seat, still clutching the microphone. The Colonel and the rest of the men had left her alone in her grief but Howard had no such inclination. He had practically fallen through the door in his desperation to save Steve, but Peggy understood that had never been part of the Captain’s plan. Yet, somehow that didn’t make it any easier.

He joined her, collapsing on the floor in a heap of quivering limbs. Seeing his pain was like looking in a mirror, in the space of a week they had lost two good men – a small amount in the grand scheme of the war but it felt like the world to them. The lost felt like a devastating blow and even though they had made a breakthrough in the war effort it just didn’t seem to mean anything to them.

“I just.... can’t... he’s...” she couldn’t bring herself to explain what had just happened. It was as though she had been watching a film of someone else’s life and the conversation had taken place between two strangers.

Steve was dead.

“We’ll find him.” Howard said earnestly, his belief in the Captain unchanged.

“I...” she almost choked on the next word, “don’t think that’s going to happen.” She appreciated his can-do attitude, but she had always been a realist and she knew just how big the search area would be, and that was even if there was any sizable wreckage.

“But I can have a comprehensive search team out there by Monday.” He remained hopeful and it almost broken her heart all over again.

“You could have one out there in an hour, I still don't think..." He cut her off, his voice breaking with emotion as he did, and the vulnerability in his voice bought renewed tears to Peggy's eyes.

"But why not?” His voice was almost a full octave higher than it usually was, and she couldn't help but think that he just didn’t understand. “We have to try..." we can’t just leave him was echoed in his silence.

"He's gone...” She said softly, the words taking her breath away.

"You don't know that, dammit!" He swore back at her, and she jumped in shock but she was not angry with him. In all honestly, she was glad that someone felt as strongly about his loss as she did. Steve was more than just a figurehead for the war effort - he was much more than that - and people didn't seem to realise that. Didn't seem to realise how much he meant to them.

"I can feel it." She replied solemnly, her voice sounding strained even to her own ears.

"Yes, but..." he tried to ask, and she could almost hear the lump forming in his throat.

"He was saying goodbye.” The tears were still cascading down her cheeks and showed no indication of stopping, but the conviction in her voice was enough to convince the engineer of her sincerely.

Howard slumped down, head in his hands. "I'm not sure that I'm ready to say goodbye," he admitted, voice catching in his throat.

"I..." she stopped, tears still rolling down her face. "I'm not either but I don't think I ever will be." She confirmed, the sadness dripping through each syllable like water through a colander.

“I’ll never work on anything better than him...” he paused for a long moment, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I’ll never know anyone better than him.”

“Saying goodbye," she said slowly, letting Howard wipe the tears gently from her cheeks. "It doesn't mean we're giving up on him." She didn’t know whether she was saying that for her benefit or for Howard’s, but either way it did absolutely nothing to make her feel better.

"I know." He nodded, and they sat together in silence for a few more moments. He tangled his fingers with hers and squeezed softly. "Steve taught me to never give up.” She smiled slightly at that and Howard did to.

“He taught me not to judge what’s on the outside.” The story of Steve’s life, as far as she was concerned, was people judging him on what they could see and on what was within. Before the serum they saw a weak man, afterwards they saw a God – very few saw the somehow strong yet fragile man he really was.

“He’s...” he caught himself and took a deep breath before continuing, “he was a good man.”


End file.
